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'The Poems of 
Frank Dempster Sherman 

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THE POEMS OF 

FRANK DEMPSTER 

SHERMAN 



EDITED 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

CLINTON SCOLLARD 




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COPYRIGHT, 18S7, 189O, 1892, 1897, AND I904, BY FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN 
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY JULIET DURAND SHERMAN 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



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THIS EDITION, PRINTED AT THE RIVERSIDE PRESS 
CAMBRIDGE, IS LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND COPIES 
OF WHICH THIS IS NUMBER 



oyLyi^ jy^~~ C: ^S 



NOV 19 1917 

©CU477661 



lA 5 1 



CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION xv 

MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

DEDICATION — TO MY FATHER 2 

FANCY 3 

MORNING MIST 4 

DAWN AND DUSK 4 

SUMMER 6 

INDIAN SUMMER 7 

THE ICE-PRISONER 8 

FEBRUARY 9 

THE MARCH WIND 9 

AN APRIL CAROL 10 

IDYLLIC 11 

A GLOW-WORM 12 

IN AN OLD GARDEN 12 

WITH A ROSE 13 

TO A DAISY 14 

ON SOME BUTTERCUPS . . 15 

TO A DANDELION 15 

APPLE BLOSSOMS 16 

A ROSE LYRIC 17 

"PANSIES FOR THOUGHTS" 18 

NOBILITY 18 

A BUNCH OF QUATRAINS 18 

A QUATRAIN 18 

A RED ROSE 19 

APRIL . 19 

BACCHUS 19 

A LYRIC 20 

[ V] 



CONTENTS 

A CATCH . 21 

A SNARE 22 

A MADRIGAL 23 

A BETROTHAL 24 

A PERSIAN DANCING GIRL 24 

A MADRIGAL 25 

THE BOOK-HUNTER 27 

AT THE DOOR 28 

A REMINISCENCE 29 

LOVE'S SEASONS 31 

AN AVOWAL 32 

IN PARENTHESIS 34 

TO MY MESSAGE 35 

A CIGAR 36 

A BUNDLE OF LETTERS 38 

A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA 40 

A PERSIAN NOCTURNE . 43 

HER GUITAR 43 

THE MUSE 45 

FOR SAYNTE VALENTYNE, HIS DAYE 47 

TO CUPID, FEBRUARY 14 48 

ENGAGED 49 

A LYRIC Si 

AN UNTUTORED MIND ,52 

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 53 

A COLONIAL MISSIVE 56 

GOOD-NIGHT 58 

SONNETS 59 

BREEZES OF MORNING 59 

A PACIFIC DAWN 59 

A BUTTERFLY IN WALL STREET 60 

THE DANCING GYPSY 61 

STRATEGY 61 

RE-AWAKENING 62 

[ Vi ] 



CONTENTS 

MISS THOMAS'S "A NEW YEAR'S MASQUE" .... 63 

FRENCH FOLLIES .64 

COME, PAN, AND PIPE 64 

WHEN TWILIGHT COMES 64 

AN OLD RONDO 65 

BEHIND HER FAN 66 

HER CHINA CUP 66 

TO CUPID 67 

"AWAKE, AWAKE!" 68 

TO MY LOVE 68 

VALENTINE TO AN ANONYMOUS MISS 69 

A COQUETTE 71 

A SWELL 72 

OF RHYME 73 

TO AUSTIN DOBSON 74 

LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

FANCY 77 

TO FANCY 79 

THE HARBOR OF DREAMS 79 

BREATH OF SONG 80 

OMAR KHAYYAM 82 

REVERY 83 

AT MIDNIGHT 85 

ISRAFEL .85 

BACKLOG DREAMS 86 

SORCERY 88 

MOTHS 88 

ON A GREEK VASE 89 

MOODS 90 

FULFILMENT 9 i 

MNEMOSYNE'S MIRROR 92 

TIME'S SONG 93 

ATTAINMENT 93 

[ vii ] 



CONTENTS 

ALLAH'S HOUSE 95 

PERPETUITY 95 

QUATRAINS 97 

SUNRISE 97 

MOONRISE 97 

A HOLLYHOCK 97 

WINTER'S BEGGAR 98 

CONTRAST 98 

SUN AND MOON 98 

SURF MUSIC 98 

LYRICS 99 

LOVE 100 

AN OLD SONG 100 

THE LAST LETTER .' 101 

PEPITA 103 

HER SMILE HIS SUNLIGHT .104 

TO A ROSE 106 

UNDER HER BALCONY 106 

AD ASTRA 107 

CONTENTMENT 108 

HELIOTROPE 109 

VALENTINES no 

ON A CLOCK 112 

TO WINTER 113 

HIS STARLIGHT 114 

UNSPOKEN US 

SONG 116 

THE NUN'S ROSE 117 

MEMORIES 118 

DIRGE 119 

NOCTURNE 120 

REMEMBRANCE 121 

NATURE 122 

A GREETING FOR SPRING 122 

[ viii ] 



CONTENTS 

NOONTIDE 125 

THE SKY-SHIP 126 

A WOODLAND SPRING 126 

THE NAIAD'S CUP 128 

ETERNITY LANE 129 

STORM 130 

IN THE CLOVER 131 

WINTER STARLIGHT 133 

DAYBREAK . 134 

BOOKS 135 

ASPIRATION 135 

THE FLY-LEAF TO THE READER 136 

THE LIBRARY 137 

FORGOTTEN BOOKS 139 

TO HIS BOOK 140 

LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

TO THE LITTLE READERS 145 

BLOSSOMS 146 

ANEMONE . 147 

DAISIES 147 

SPRING 'S COMING _ 148 

GOLDEN-ROD 148 

JANUARY 149 

FEBRUARY 150 

MARCH 150 

APRIL 151 

MAY 152 

JUNE 153 

JULY .154 

AUGUST 155 

SEPTEMBER 155 

OCTOBER 156 

NOVEMBER 157 

[ ix ] 



CONTENTS 

DECEMBER 158 

KING BELL 159 

IN THE MEADOW 160 

FAIRY JEWELS 161 

THE FOUR WINDS 162 

HUMMING-BIRD SONG 163 

PEBBLES 164 

IN THE ORCHARD 164 

A REAL SANTA CLAUS 165 

CHERRIES 166 

FLYING KITE 168 

KRISS KRLNGLE 168 

WIZARD FROST 169 

THE JUGGLER 170 

A FAIRY STORY i 7 i 

THE SHADOWS , 172 

HIDE-AND-SEEK 173 

THE ARCHER 174 

A FUNNY FELLOW 174 

SPINNING TOP 175 

SMILES AND TEARS 176 

THE CANARY 176 

CLOUDS 177 

LEAVES AT PLAY 178 

SHADOW PICTURES 179 

GHOST FAIRIES 180 

SONG FOR WINTER 181 

A DEWDROP 182 

JESTER BEE 183 

SNOWFLAKES 184 

DREAMS 184 

MAY-CHILDREN 186 

ROBIN'S APOLOGY 187 

SOLDIERS OF THE SUN 187 

[X ] 



CONTENTS 

SNOW SONG 188 

THE RAIN-HARP 189 

ELFIN LAMPS 190 

BIRDS' MUSIC 190 

SHADOW CHILDREN 191 

FAIRY SHIPWRECK 192 

BEES 192 

THE WATERFALL 193 

LULLABY 193 

WINTER'S ACROBATS 194 

VACATION SONG 196 

THE SNOW-BIRD 197 

THE FAIRIES' DANCE 197 

THE ROSE'S CUP . 198 

THE SNOW-WEAVER . 199 

THE STORY-TELLER 200 

THE RAINBOW 203 

THE STORY OF OMAR 204 

THE CHRISTMAS CAT 205 

LYRICS OF JOY 

FANCY 209 

CONFESSION 211 

WITCHERY 211 

DIES ULTIMA 212 

A TEAR BOTTLE 213 

THE DAY'S SHROUD 214 

A SEA GHOST 215 

A BIRD'S ELEGY 215 

SECRET 216 

THE POET 217 

THE CHARM 217 

HIS DESIRE 218 

THE MUSE 219 

[ xi ] 



CONTENTS 

THE INTERPRETER 220 

HARRO 221 

WITH HERRICK 223 

CANOE SONG 224 

A GARLAND 225 

A PRAYER 228 

NATURE 229 

THE YEAR'S DAY 229 

ARBUTUS 229 

VIOLET 230 

APRIL 231 

MAY MORNING 232 

HONEYSUCKLES 233 

WINTER DREAMS 234 

WHITE MAGIC .234 

FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW 235 

NANTUCKET 236 

LOVE 240 

TO JULIET 240 

ROSE LORE 241 

THE BOWER OF CUPID 242 

MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC 244 

IN ABSENCE 246 

FOR MUSIC 247 

LOVE'S SPRINGTIDE 247 

TO HER 247 

MY APRIL 248 

A MAY MADRIGAL 249 

NOCTURNE 250 

MEMORIES 251 

A SONG'S ECHO 252 

WITH ROSES 252 

TWO SONGS "... 253 

SONNETS 255 

[ xii] 



CONTENTS 

SAINT ROSE 255 

SURF MUSIC 255 

TO A MOCKING BIRD 256 

MUSIC 257 

THE SHOWER 257 

THE WINTER POOL 258 

BETRAYAL 258 

THE SNOW'S DREAMER .......... 259 

THE CATHEDRAL BELLS 260 

QUATRAINS 261 

DAWN 261 

STORM 261 

DUSK 261 

STARLIGHT 261 

A SEA FANCY 262 

MASTERY 262 

DERELICT 262 

FOG 262 

THE PENALTY 263 

LIFE 263 

THE GOAL 263 

KNOWLEDGE 263 

IN A GARDEN 264 

IVY 264 

GRASS 264 

ROSE 264 

DAY DREAM 265 

FERE FANCIES 265 

CITY SPARROWS 265 

WRIT IN WATER 265 

CONTRAST . . . I 266 

A WISH 266 

UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

THE LOOM OF SONG 269 

[ Xlii ] 



CONTENTS 

ECHO 269 

THE BROOK ACCOMPANIMENT 270 

MOONLIGHT 271 

THE FORTRESS OF SAN MARCO 271 

THE FAMILIAR MELODY 272 

TWILIGHT 272 

ROMANCE 273 

BROADWAY AT MIDNIGHT 274 

THE END OF AUTUMN 274 

THE LONELY ROOM 275 

ON A BRONZE MEDAL OF LINCOLN 276 

FOR POPPIES 276 

GIPSY 277 

EXPERIENCE 278 

LABOR OMNIA VLNCIT 279 

AUTUMN LEAVES 279 

THE TREE TAVERN 280 

NOCTURNE 281 

A FIRST EDITION 282 

THE HOUSE OF DREAMS 284 

LIMITATION 285 

THE IMMORTAL FLOWER 285 

INDEX OF FIRST LINES 289 

INDEX OF TITLES . 297 



INTRODUCTION 

IN the year 1633, there landed in Boston two brothers, 
Samuel and Philip Sherman, whose ancestor, in di- 
rect line, was one Thomas Sherman, Gentleman, a man 
of parts and prominence in Diss, County Norfolk, Eng- 
land, during the reign of Henry VII. It was from the 
younger of these two brothers, Philip, a person of note 
in his day, he having been the first Secretary of the 
Colony of Portsmouth, Rhode Island, that Frank 
Dempster Sherman was descended. 

The poet was born in Peekskill, New York, on May 
6, i860, being the oldest of a family of nine children. 
His father was John Dempster Sherman, an educator 
and bookman, and his mother, Lucy MacFarland, of 
Scotch ancestry. Mr. Sherman passed his boyhood 
days in his native town, where he received his prelimi- 
nary education at the Peekskill Military Academy. 
For a time, just before entering college, he was secre- 
tary to Mr. William de Caindry, of Washington, who 
was connected with the War Department. He entered 
Columbia University in the autumn of 1879, complet- 
ing his course in 1884, being compelled, on account 
of ill-health, to drop back a class. He was one of the 
first graduates of the School of Architecture, a depart- 
ment founded by Professor William R. Ware. At 
Harvard University he passed a year in post-graduate 
study, but was obliged to give this up owing to the 

[xv] 



INTRODUCTION 

physical breakdown of his father. Through the influ- 
ence of Professor Ware, he was made a Fellow in 
Architecture at Columbia in 1887. At this institution 
he was in turn instructor (1888), adjunct professor 
(1891), and Professor of Graphics (1904). The last- 
named position he held at his death, which occurred 
on the 19th of September, 19 16. On the 16th of No- 
vember, 1887, he married Juliet Mersereau Durand, 
of Peekskill. 

Of his attainments as an instructor one of his col- 
leagues has said : "In the School of Architecture Pro- 
fessor Sherman was not merely an extraordinarily bril- 
liant lecturer on mathematical subjects, but also the 
guide, counselor, and friend of his students. His work 
will live in the lives of hundreds of those whom he 
inspired, and in the progress and development of the 
School, for which more than once, in times of per- 
plexity and uncertainty, his wise counsels and clear- 
headed vision had proved of inestimable value." 

Another of Mr. Sherman's University associates 
(Professor Franklin H. Giddings) tenders this cor- 
dial tribute: "To those who knew Frank Dempster 
Sherman in the intimacy of colleagues the trait that 
marked him was his cheerful faithfulness to day-by- 
day duty. As a teacher he gave himself without stint, 
and from students he demanded knowledge and accu- 
racy. His own exquisite workmanship was more than 
talent ; it was also fidelity. His genius for tireless re- 
search and relentless verification made his exhaustive 
genealogy of the Sherman kindred a work that will 
[ xvi ] 



INTRODUCTION 

be cited for generations as a standard-setting achieve- 
ment. For kindred and friends nothing that he could 
give was too good, and sacrifice of time and strength 
was a thing of course. He would help another fellow 
to get the right start in professional work or in author- 
ship with an enthusiasm that was tireless. And all 
these things he did and was because his helpful living 
had in it the quality of his own Lyrics of Joy. I never 
heard him called * Professor ' among his colleagues, and 
rarely * Sherman.' To everybody he was * Frank ' or 
' Dempster.' " 

In addition to his activities as poet and professor, 
and his comprehensive and untiring genealogical re- 
searches, Mr. Sherman was an enthusiastic philatelist 
and collector of book-plates. His skill as a draughts- 
man led him latterly into book-plate designing, where 
he might easily have distinguished himself had he 
cared to do so. More than one editor has attested to 
his delight in receiving Mr. Sherman's manuscripts, 
for his chirography was like copper-plate, as any one 
may discern who cares to examine his remarkable rec- 
ords of the Sherman family now preserved in the 
genealogical department of the New York Public Li- 
brary. 

Mr. Sherman was a poet of moods. After long pe- 
riods of silence, the shores of Nantucket, the seclusion 
of the Catskills, the pine groves of the Carolinas, the 
quaintness of St. Augustine streets, would move him 
to sudden and sustained bursts of song. Furthermore, 
he left behind him a mass of ungathered material (not 
[ xvii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

contained in the present volume), printed under vari- 
ous pen-names, facile, witty, and possessed of a gra- 
cious charm, that is practically unrivaled in American 
poetry. While at Columbia he was a contributor to, 
and one of the editors of, the Acta Columbiana; at 
Harvard he wrote both for the Advocate and the Lam- 
poo7i ; and later his name was frequently seen in all 
the prominent periodicals of the country. 



Hie habitat felicitas ! Render this Latin phrase as 
you will, in a broad or a restricted sense, it applies 
with singular fitness to the poetry of Frank Dempster 
Sherman. Looking into the crystal of life, the scenes 
that were most actively and vividly presented to his 
imagination were those of beauty and happiness, and 
of these he sang with an unfailing clarity and charm. 
From first to last a firm believer in art, he never mis- 
took this much misunderstood term for artifice. Early 
to recognize his limitations, it was thus that he pro- 
claimed his credo : — 

In nature's open book 

An epic is the sea; 
A lyric is the brook; 

Lyrics for me! 

So while he was an ardent admirer of all that is high- 
est and truest in English poetry from Chaucer down, 
it was that which is strictly lyrical that exercised for 
him the most potent appeal. 

When Mr. Sherman began writing, Longfellow, 
[ xviii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

Whittier, and Lowell were still living, and the great- 
est of the Victorians were in full voice. From none of 
these men, however, did he draw any appreciable in- 
spiration ; nor had Keats or Shelley, to both of whom 
he was enthusiastically devoted, a noticeable influence 
upon his style. He was an inheritor rather, at least 
in his more serious moods, of that gallant band of 
cavaliers who sat at the feet of Ben Jonson, and wore 
their lovelocks long, and jested and sang in the gar- 
dens of Whitehall in the time of the ill-fated Charles 
the First. 

If one attempts to trace Mr. Sherman's poetic an- 
cestors, it is to Herrick and Lovelace and Carew 
among the elders, and to Aldrich and Dobson among 
the moderns, that he owed the most. But upon what- 
ever he inherited from these poets he set his own in- 
dubitable seal of individuality. No verse-maker has 
yet written who has not quaffed from some already 
flowing fount of song. If a Shakspere may glean in 
the field of a Kyd or a Marlowe, another of lesser and 
narrower power may rightfully find something appro- 
priate for his uses among his literary forbears. 

II 

In those verses which might properly be termed 
Juvenilia, from which no selection was made in choos- 
ing the material for his first volume, Mr. Sherman 
showed the same sense of form, the same mastery of 
technic, that characterized all his later utterances. 
With him this matter appears to have been intuitive. 

[ xix ] 



INTRODUCTION 

One notes no groping after a medium of expression, 
no immaturity in handling the thought, as is the case 
with many a youthful writer. 

Madrigals and Catches, the poet's earliest venture 
in bookmaking, is instinct with a debonair spirit. No 
initial volume by any singer is more buoyant or more 
blithe. 

How easy 'tis to write a rhyme! 

lilts this gay devotee of the Muses. How easy indeed 
for so merry-hearted a troubadour! Here are many 
things airy and amatory. Youth, exuberant youth, 
sings, with no pose of age. Sentiment ? yes, but with- 
out a touch of mawkishness. All is simple, sincere, 
and spontaneous. Latterly Mr. Sherman expressed 
regret not infrequently that, at the outset, he should 
have won recognition and no small reputation as a 
writer of what Mr. Stedman once aptly styled " Patri- 
cian Rhyme." This feeling on his part, however, seems 
unwarranted, for he was a master of Society Verse. 
Far more welcome oftentimes the gay Benedict than 
" the moody Dane ; " and pleasant it is, on occasion, 
to turn from the stern gravity of Milton or the lofty 
earnestness of Wordsworth to the bonhommie of 
Praed and Locker. So the charm in the gay aban- 
don of such pieces as Sherman's "Engaged," "An 
Avowal," and " Her Guitar" is undeniable. 

In the days of Madrigals and Catches ', the so-called 
" French Forms " were fascinating many poets in Eng- 
land and America. Experimenting in these restricted 

[xx] 



INTRODUCTION 

limits, Mr. Sherman achieved no little success. Indeed 
it may be doubted if such " Follies " (this was the 
poet's name for them) as " Behind Her Fan," " Her 
China Cup," and " Awake, Awake," have been equaled 
by any writer save Mr. Dobson. 

Ill 

Passing over the " clever fooling " in a volume enti- 
tled New Waggings of Old Tales, written in conjunc- 
tion with John Kendrick Bangs, we find our poet com- 
ing fully to his own in Lyrics for a Lute. Here, in the 
opening poem, he puts this question : — 

Is there any fetter strong 

That will hold you, soul of song ? 

Whatever that fetter may be, Mr. Sherman had dis- 
covered it, for this whole volume breathes the " soul 
of song." In it, however varied the theme, — love, 
nature, books, — the art is perfect, the music magical. 
The freshness of youth has not been left behind, but 
with it is blended maturity. There is youth in " Her 
Smile His Sunlight," but there is an older vision in 
such an exquisite lyric as " Remembrance." 

Day to my heart 
With you comes always fair; 
When you depart 

'T is twilight there. 

Then love unbars 
The door of dreams for me, 
And lights the stars 
Of memory! 
[ xxi ] 



INTRODUCTION 

It is a wider experience, too, out of which grew the 
brief poem "At Midnight," in which such an unusual 
and beautiful metaphor is embodied. 

See, yonder, the belfry tower 

That gleams in the moon's pale light! 

Or is it a ghostly flower 

That dreams in the silent night ? 

I listen and hear the chime 

Go quavering o'er the town, 

And out of this flower of Time 

Twelve petals are wafted down. 

It may be said that in Lyrics for a Lute Mr. Sher- 
man first shows himself a true nature-lover, and, in 
some degree, an interpreter. In sheer lyrical sweep 
and rapture " A Greeting for Spring " may be set side 
by side with Mr. Carman's lovely " Mother April." 

No one save an enamored hunter after first editions 
could have written the book poems which close this 
volume. No verses upon a library could be happier 
than those beginning, — 

Give me a room where every nook 
Is dedicated to a book; 

and no couplet could be finer or more tender than the 
following, in the final selection, addressed to one who 
throughout much of the poet's life meant to him both 
inspiration and aspiration : — 

Her praise is inspiration's breath; 
Her scorn were aspiration's death! 

[ xxii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

IV 
Were one making up a shelf of poetry for children, 
there are two books that, at the beginning, one would 
unhesitatingly choose. These are Stevenson's Child's 
Garden of Verses and Sherman's Little-Folk Lyrics ; 
and it would be purely a matter of taste which to place 
first, for each has its own especial merit and charm. 
In Little-Folk Lyrics Mr. Sherman comes very near 
to the heart of childhood, the ability to do which is a 
unique gift. In imagination he never goes so far that 
the youthful mind may not accompany him. He writes 
not about juvenility, but for it, and does not mistake 
the childish for the childlike. Everywhere he is cheery, 
suggestive, fanciful. In turn delicate, sprightly or hu- 
morous, he leads the little folk on through the months 
of the year amid birds, blossoms, fruit, and snowflakes. 
It would be a strange child who would not be beguiled 
by these delightful, these winsome, verse-pictures ; for 
in each, whatever be the theme, there is that mixture 
of fact and ideality, the sights and sounds and inci- 
dents, which characterize and illuminate the child- 
drama. 

V 

Mr. Sherman's last book (with the exception of a 
slight volume, A Southern Flight, published jointly 
with a friend) was Lyrics of Joy, which appeared in 
1904. In its pages, as many times previously, the note 
of happiness is dwelt upon, but now with a touch of 
gravity, as seen in the closing stanza of " Confession." 
[ xxiii ] 



INTRODUCTION 

So all my lyrics sing of joy, 

And shall until my lips are mute; 

In old age happy as the boy 
To whom God gave the lute. 

There is, moreover, now and again a shadow, a chord 
of pathos, which serves by contrast to add a bright- 
ness to the poetic conception. This may be discerned 
in such pieces as " Dies Ultima " and " A Tear Bottle," 
more especially in the latter which tells of the glass 
wherein the tears of a Greek girl fell two thousand 
years ago. We sense a certain poignant regret in 
reading — 

Long is Art, but Life how brief! 

And the end seems so unjust — 
This companion of her grief 

Here to-day, while she is dust! 

It was Mr. Sherman's frequent claim that the son- 
net was a form in which he failed, but his experiments 
with it hardly justify his contention. " A Butterfly in 
Wall Street," with its vivid last line, — 

You are a type of their uncertain gold, 
will compare favorably with the best American son- 
nets ; and in Lyrics of Joy and among the Uncollected 
Poems are other instances of his skill in nurturing the 
" lovely flower of fourteen perfect petals." 

VI 

During the last six years of his life, Mr. Sherman 
wrote no poetry. After a summer of unusual produc- 
tivity, spent in one of the most delightful vales of the 
Catskills, he became intensely absorbed in the gene- 
[ xxiv ] 



INTRODUCTION 

alogy of the Sherman family, the outcome of which 
remains to-day a marvel of industry and achievement. 
Although he grew, without reason, to consider him- 
self a part of the past, he never lost interest in the art 
which, for so long a time, had been nearest to his heart. 

Vital and exceptionally brilliant as an instructor 
and lecturer in the realm of architecture, he was no 
less illumining when he spoke of poetry. From the 
days of his early enthusiasms when, walking at twilight 
under the Cambridge elms, he would improvise sonnet, 
rondeau, or ballade with an ease that was the despair 
of those less versatile, until the last weeks before the 
end, his ability to discriminate between the true "and 
false in verse was as remarkable as it was unerring. 
Although in practice he was a precisian, his likings 
and sympathies were broad. 

In all Mr. Sherman's poetry there is a fine certitude, 
an inevitableness. He fashioned an epigram with the 
same surety with which a carver cuts an intaglio. His 
vision was never clouded. Along whatsoever ways he 
led, the paths were unobscured by an illusory haze. 
Many are his fancies and figures, and each is definite 
and sharp of outline. As another has said, his poems 
have a compactness and completeness of organism 
that make them memorable.. When more ambitious 
verse has been forgotten, it would not be surprising 
if some of Mr. Sherman's exquisite lyrics would hold 
their place in the thought and memory of our children's 
children. 

Clinton Scollard. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Madrigals and Catches. White, Stokes & Allen, 
New York, 1887. 

New Waggings of Old Tales. (With John Kendrick 
Bangs.) Ticknor & Company, Boston, 1887. 

Lyrics for a Lute. Houghton Mifflin Company, 
Boston, 1890. 

Little Folk Lyrics. Houghton Mifflin Company, 
Boston, 1892. 

Lyrics of Joy. Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, 
1904. 

A Southern Flight. (With Clinton Scollard.) 
George William Browning, Clinton, New York, 1905. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



TO MY FATHER 

Madrigals and catches caught 
In the cage of Happy-thought 
Are these amatory rhymes; 
Reveries of olden times 
When my heart was ever bent 
After some new sentiment, 
Veering like a ship at sea 
With the tides of melody, 
Trembling like the stars above 
With each last-discovered love. 

These are songs for gladsome youth. 
Half in jest and half in truth; 
Lyrics light as gales that toss 
Leaves the orchard floor across, — 
Lyrics gay as carols sung 
Blossom-laden vines among ; — 
All pitched in a major key — 
Catch and madrigal and glee : 
Songs whose inspiration came 
In the constant leaping flame 
Of my love for Her whose eyes 
Look on us from Paradise, 
And my love for you whose heart 
Gave Love's mariner the chart 
That he might find only joy — 
Only joy for me, your boy. 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



FANCY 

LIFT the oars and let us go 
Whither listless winds may blow, 
Drifting idly with the tide, 
Kissing grasses either side, — 
Skimming deeps that lie between 
Bending willow-branches green : 
On, and on, and on we '11 float 
With no pilot for our boat 
Save the zephyr, cool and bland, 
Lisping from the launching-land, — 
Guided by no stars above, — 
Only lucent eyes of love. 
Sailing, we at last shall reach 
Silver sands of island beach, 
Where a seaward-blown perfume 
Hints of orchard fruit and bloom. 
In this golden ocean-isle 
Let us wander for a while, 
Plucking from its treasure-trees 
Apples of Hesperides. 



[3] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



MORNING MIST 

ACROSS the level meadow-land 
There hangs a veil of vapor white, 
Like some forgotten robe of night 
Held in the morning's rosy hand. 

Along the grass the wind-waves run, 
And wake the witches' weird refrain : 
" Behold the ghost of last night's rain ! " 

And lo, it melts before the sun ! 

Then comes a rustle in the wood, 
As if upon the leaves were cast 
A sudden spell, — the ghost has passed 

Into their shadowed solitude ! 



DAWN AND DUSK 

i 

SLENDER strips of crimson sky 
Near the dim horizon lie, 
Shot across with golden bars 
Reaching to the fading stars ; 
Soft the balmy west wind blows 
Wide the portals of the rose ; 
Smell of dewy pine and fir, 
Lisping leaves and vines astir ; 
[41 



DAWN AND DUSK 

On the borders of the dark 
Gayly sings the meadow-lark, 
Bidding all the birds assemble, — 
Hark, the welkin seems to tremble ! 
Suddenly the sunny gleams 
Break the poppy-fettered dreams, — 

Dreams of Pan, with two feet cloven, 
Piping to the nymph and faun, 

Who, with wreaths of ivy woven, 
Nimbly dance to greet the dawn. 

ii 
Shifting shadows indistinct ; 
Leaves and branches, crossed and linked, 
Cling like children, and embrace, 
Frightened at the moon's pale face. 
In the gloomy wood begins 
Noise of insect violins ; 
Swarms of fireflies flash their lamps 
In their atmospheric camps, 
And the sad-voiced whip-poor-will 
Echoes back from hill to hill, 
Liquid clear above the crickets, 
Chirping in the thorny thickets, 
Weary eyelids, eyes that weep, 
Wait the magic touch of sleep ; 

While the dew, in silence falling, 
Fills the air with scent of musk, 

And this lonely night-bird, calling, 
Drops a note down through the dusk. 
[51 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



SUMMER 

MEADOWS lost in clouds of mist ; 
Grass whose lips the dew has kissed ; 
Buds whose fragrant breath is drawn 
Through the freshness of the dawn ; 
Vines in whose slight pulses flows 
Life-blood of the crimson rose ; 
Flocks of happy-hearted birds 
Talking in melodious words ; 
Brooks, unfettered by the Spring, 
Through the pastures murmuring, — 
Children prattling in their glee 
Chasing to the mother sea ; 
Soft south-breezes, — gentle rain, — 
Rival wooers of the plain ; 
Here and there beside the path 
Flowers emerging from their bath ; 
Waving forest-floods of green, 
Leaves with blossoms white between. 



Ah ! the bud is open now, 
Hints of fruit hang on the bough, 
And the velvet rose is born 
At the coming of the morn : 
There 's a gladness in the sun 
Speaks of something new begun, — 
[6] 



INDIAN SUMMER 

Of a work mysterious 
Nature has performed for us. 
Hark ! the honey-bee's low hum 
Tells us that the summer 's come ! 



INDIAN SUMMER 

ACROSS the billowy meadow grasses 
The Summer passes with languid tread, 
And where she journeys the path is burning, 
And leaves are turning to brown and red. 

She goes in silence across the valley 
Where low winds rally around her track 

And touch her garment and murmur, " Maiden, 
With roses laden come back, come back ! " 

She does not heed them, she does not listen ; 

Her soft eyes glisten with welling tears ; 
Her heart grows heavy for not replying 

To verdure dying, — to prayers she hears. 

But once, in sorrow, she turns and lingers 
To kiss the ringers fast growing cold, 

And all the Earth for a moment 's pleasure 
Yields up her treasure of yellow gold. 



[7] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



THE ICE-PRISONER 

ABOVE, — a dome of gray ; below, — 
The landscape carpeted with snow : 
No bird so warmly clad or bold 
Who dares to brave the bitter cold. 
I find within the silent wood 
A solitude of solitude. 
Through leafless trees no breeze is blown 
To hint that I am not alone, — 
No echo cracks the crystal air: 
The world about me seems to wear 
A look of peaceful loneliness, 
Remembering the soft caress 
Of summer winds that robbed the flowers, 
And music measuring the hours. 
Throughout the land the hush of death ! 
I breathe, and, lo, — the ghost of breath ! 
The crisp snow crunches 'neath my tread 
Like fallen twigs and branches dead. 

But hark ! Along the frozen ground 
I catch a muffled liquid sound, — 
A voice that sings of Paradise, 
Low murmuring in walls of ice, — 
A melody that seems to run 
To find again the truant sun. 
I hear the fettered pulses stir 
Of winter's happy prisoner 
[8] 



THE MARCH WIND 

Whose merry song and laughter bring 
A thought of the returning spring, — 
Of buds and grass with warm rain wet, 
And April's early violet. 

FEBRUARY 

LIKE mimic meteors the snow 
In silence out of heaven sifts, 
And wanton winds that wake and blow 
Pile high their monumental drifts. 

And looking through the window-panes 

I see, 'mid loops and angles crossed, 
The dainty geometric skeins 

Drawn by the fingers of the Frost. 

'T is here at dawn where comes his Love, 
All eager and with smile benign, — 

A golden Sunbeam from above, — 
To read the Frost's gay valentine. 

THE MARCH WIND 

BLOW, wind of March, and sing 
Your songs unto the timid buds and grass; 
Unclasp the fetters of the woodland spring 
Hushed in its house of glass. 

Blow, wind of March, and thrill 

The languid pulses of the barren trees, 
[9l 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Until their empty hands with blossoms fill 
And tempt the honey-bees. 

Blow, wind of March, and wake 

The sleeping violets with gentle words ; 

Spread your green canopy of leaves and make 
A shelter for the birds. 

Blow, sturdy wind of March, 

And burst the winter's frosty prison-bars ; 
Blow all the clouds from heaven's azure arch 

And stud it with white stars. 

Blow, wind of March, aye, blow, 

Until the orchards heed your voice, and bloom ; 
Then whisper softly where the wild flowers grow 

About the winter's tomb. 

AN APRIL CAROL 

APRIL! 
Robin, sing to greet her ; 
Down the meadow dart to meet her ! 
See, she brings the leaf and flower, 
Fickle sun and fickle shower, 
Gives the day another hour, 
Makes the breezes sweeter. 

April ! 

Maidens, lend your faces 
Dimpled smiles and gentle graces ! 
[10] 



IDYLLIC 

See, she brings the blue-bells' chimes, 
Tardy lovers with their rhymes, 
Steals her days from warmer climes, 
Nights from dewy places. 

April ! 

Song, be blithe and tender ; 

Music, sound with double splendor ! 
See, she brings the warbling birds, 
Troops of bees and dappled herds, 
Teaches love mysterious words, 

Bids the heart surrender. 

IDYLLIC 

TO lie beneath a cloudless sky 
On moss beside a shallow brook 
Where smells of wild-flowers in the dells 

Make me forgetful of my book, — 
To dream of shepherd with his crook, 

Of sheep on grassy slopes asleep, — 
To catch a visionary look 

Of shepherdess, and hear her step 
Fall like a whisper on the ground, — 

To watch her sunny smiles, and see 
Her dainty garments, soft and snowy, 

Fold gracefully her form around, — 
T is like a day in Sicily 

With Daphnis and his sweetheart Chloe. 

[ii I 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



A GLOW-WORM 

CLOSE by the margin tufts of grass 
Weighed down with dew and damp, 
I found you as I chanced to pass, 
Your trimmed and shining lamp 
Illumining with greenish light 
The dusty road in dusky night : 

A velvet ring set round with gems 

That softly shone below 
The pale blue chicory's tall stems, 

As if the path to show 
To some belated beetle who 
Went stumbling homeward in the dew : 

A phosphorescent beacon there, — 

A solitary guide 
For insect ships that sail the air 

On breaths of fragrant tide ; 
Or were you from some realm on high 
A star dropped from the summer sky ? 

IN AN OLD GARDEN 

THREE giant fir-trees reach their arms 
To shade this quiet garden plot, 
And here and there a fragrant knot 
Of roses tempts the buzzing swarms. 
[ 12] 



WITH A ROSE 

Amid a host of alien weeds 

Spring faces of familiar blooms 
Which, breathing stories in perfumes, 

Seem ghosts of some forgotten seeds. 

The creeping vine, its tendrils round 
The crooked rows of untrimmed box, 
Forsaken now, methinks it knocks 

To gain admittance to the ground. 

All, all is waste and desolate, — 
The blowing firs are full of grief, 
The blue-bird hidden by a leaf 

Sings sorrowfully to his mate. 

The scattered flowers alone are gay ; 
Their fragrance fills the gentle wind, 
And I, grown drowsy, dream and find 

The long forgotten yesterday. 

WITH A ROSE 

ATI NY fire within this rose 
Lends to the leaves a crimson flush 
Like that soft tint which comes and goes 
And weaves a modest maiden's blush. 

So to my Sweet this censer bloom 
Swung by Love's little acolyte 

I send, that all its fine perfume 

May float around her through the night. 
[13] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Go, Rose, unto my heart's desire, 

Perchance her love for you may frame 

A dream of Cupids in a choir 
All chanting lyrics to her name. 

And when the dream shall end at last, 
A priceless gift shall be your fee, — 

To feel her kisses falling fast 
Upon your lips for love of me. 

TO A DAISY 

WEE, little rimless wheel of Fate, 
With silver spokes and hub of yellow, 
What gentle girl, in accents mellow, 
Has sought your aid to find a mate ? 

Who snapt your slender spokes apart, 

Each one some dear acquaintance naming ? 
And who was he — the loved one, claiming 

The choicest chamber in her heart ? 

O tiny hub of golden hue, 

Kissed by her fingers' tender pressing, 
Still yet, methinks, she 's vainly guessing 

If what you prophesied were true. 

You died between her finger-tips, 
Sweet gypsy maid of wisdom magic ; 
Pray, is it worth a death so tragic 

To hear the music of her lips ? 
[ 14] 



TO A DANDELION 



ON SOME BUTTERCUPS 

A LITTLE way below her chin, 
Caught in her bosom's snowy hem, 
Some buttercups are fastened in, — 
Ah, how I envy them ! 

They do not miss their meadow place, 
Nor are they conscious that their skies 

Are not the heavens but her face, 
Her hair and tender eyes. 

There, in the downy meshes pinned, 
Such sweet illusions haunt their rest, 

They think her breath the fragrant wind, 
And tremble on her breast ; 

As if, close to her heart, they heard 

A captive secret slip its cell, 
And with desire were sudden stirred 

To find a voice and tell ! 

TO A DANDELION 

LITTLE mimic of the sun, 
Hiding in the fragrant grass, 
Have you any kisses won 

From the pretty maids who pass ? 
When the sun slips down the west 
[ i5l 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Some fair girl shall come in quest 
Of the secret which you lock 

In your tiny golden breast : 
You shall hear an airy knock, 
And a question : What o'clock ? 

Ah, you dainty, snowy ghost, 

See what bliss your wisdom brings ! 

Tell me, pray, what angels boast 
Such a zephyr for their wings ? 

Just because the hour you tell, 

She repays your magic well, — 
Wafts you off to paradise ; 

Sounds for you a gentle knell ; 

Lights your journey with her eyes : 
Would that I were half so wise ! 

APPLE BLOSSOMS 

THE soft wind whispered secrets to the apple tree, 
Caressed her in his arms and would not let 
her go 
Until the rosy blossoms came triumphantly 

To tell the one 'sweet message that he wished to 
know. 

A timid maiden with her lover lingered there 

In silence, clasping hands amid the leaves that fell, 
Till one bold blossom drifting down the perfumed air 
Just touched her rounded cheek, and bade the 
blushes tell. 

[ 16] 



A ROSE LYRIC 



A ROSE LYRIC 

ROSE in the garden-close, 
Why, when the light wind blows, 
Why do you bend your head ? 
Why do your cheeks grow red ? 
Rose, my sweet, — rose at my feet, 
Tell me ! 

What does the soft gale say 
Whispering low all day, — 

Kissing your lips a-bloom, 

Answering back perfume ? 
Rose, my sweet, — rose at my feet, 
Tell me 1 

Tell me that I may woo 

Her as the wind wooes you ; 
What are the words that start 
Blushes from your sweet heart? 

Rose, my sweet, — rose at my feet, 
Tell me ! 

Rose, of all roses, queen, 
Budding at seventeen, 

Place the flower near your lip, 
Then, if the secret slip, 
Rose, my Sweet, — Rose, at your feet, 
Tell me ! 
[ 17] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 
"PANSIES FOR THOUGHTS " 

FOR you these tiny flowers are cut, — 
These slender-stemmed, rich purple pansies ; 
A thousand thoughts and tender fancies 
Within their little hearts are shut. 
Sweet memories of happy hours 

We spent together, — dear romances, — 
Like love in one of Cupid's glances, 
Hide in the fragrance of these flowers. 

NOBILITY 

THE sturdy wind that fills the ship's white sail 
And turns the mighty mill-wheel when it blows, 
Once breathed the love-song of the nightingale, 
And wafted him the perfume of the rose. 

Let him who seeks a god-like man to find 
Think of the wind, and seek its counterpart : 

The tempest's strength, matched by a noble mind, 
The zephyr by a pure and gentle heart ! 

A BUNCH OF QUATRAINS 

A QUATRAIN 

HARK at the lips of this pink whorl of shell 
And you shall hear the ocean's surge and roar : 
So in the quatrain's measure, written well, 
A thousand lines shall all be sung in four ! 
[18 1 



BACCHUS 



A RED ROSE 



ONCE, long ago, in some sweet garden's hush, 
A lover gave you, snow-white, to his love : 
And, lifted to her lips, you saw her blush 

And blushed to match her damask cheek above. 



APRIL 

AS any child, this baby of the year's 
Made glad with toys, forgets imagined woes : 
Thus comes young April smiling through her tears, 
Her toys the flowers, her grief the vanished snows. 

BACCHUS 

LISTEN to the tawny thief, 
Hid behind the waxen leaf, 
Growling at his fairy host, 
Bidding her with angry boast 
Fill his cup with wine distilled 
From the dew the dawn has spilled : 
Stored away in golden casks 
Is the precious draught he asks. 

Who, — who makes this mimic din 
In this mimic meadow inn, 
Sings in such a drowsy note, 
Wears a golden-belted coat ; 
[ i9l 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Loiters in the dainty room 
Of this tavern of perfume ; 
Dares to linger at the cup 
Till the yellow sun is up ? 

It is Bacchus come again 
To the busy haunts of men ; 
Garlanded and gayly dressed, 
Bands of gold about his breast ; 
Straying from his paradise, 
Having pinions, angel-wise, — 
'T is the honey-bee, who goes 
Reveling within a rose ! 

A LYRIC 

A LYRIC is a tiny bird, — 
Gay lover of the garden blooms, 
Whose little heart is ever stirred 
By colors and perfumes. 

Its flights are near the lowly things, 
Not to the eagle-epic's skies : 

It is content to flash its wings 
Beneath my loved one's eyes. 

Go then, my song, you have the chart 
To guide you to a gentle clime, — 

Go build your nest, and thrill her heart 
With flutterings of rhyme ! 
[20] 



A CATCH 



A CATCH 

IF any grace 
To me belong, 
In song, 
Know then your face 
Has been to me 
A key; 
For pitched in this 
Delicious tone, 
I 've known 
I could not miss 
What music slips 
Your lips. 

If faults be found 
In any line 
Of mine, 
To mar the sound 
Of notes that try 
To vie 
With yours, my Sweet, 
Then, always true, 
Do you 
The words repeat, 
And make sublime 
My rhyme ! 



[21] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

A SNARE 

LOVE I locked upon a time 
In the fetters of my rhyme, 
Bound his feet and fixed his hands 
Firm in fancy-forged bands, 
Fastened with a dainty twist 
Couplet-gyves around his wrist. 
Sealed his lips and left him dumb, 
Prisoner till She should come. 

Then I said unto my Heart : 
; By this magic, by this art, 
You shall learn if She be kind 
To your constancy, or blind : 
Like the rhyme your chains are stout 
Captive in the dungeon Doubt, 
There you languish at the door 
Praying freedom evermore. 

If She pity Love's distress, — 
If, with maiden tenderness, 
She his' bands and fetters slip, 
Murmuring with trembling lip 
Linked music of my song, — 
Be of cheer ; for then, erelong, 
At your bars her face you '11 see, — 
Then the lock shall feel the key 
Turn its rusty round, — and then, 
Love know liberty again ! " 
[22] 



A MADRIGAL 



A MADRIGAL 



ALL the world is bright, 
All my heart is merry, 
Violets and roses red, 

Sparkling in the dew : 
Brow — the lily 's white ; 

Lip — the crimson berry; 
Hark, I hear a lightsome tread, — 
Ah, my love, 't is you I 

Wing to me, birds, and sing to me ; 

None so happy as I ! 
Only the merriest melodies bring to me 

When my beloved is by. 

All the air is sweet, 

All my heart is quiet, 
Fleecy clouds on breezes warm 

Floating far above : 
Eye — where soft lights meet ; 

Cheek — where roses riot ; 
Look, I see a gracious form, — 

Ah, 't is you, my love ! 

Wing to her, birds, and sing to her ; 

None so happy as she ! 
Only the merriest melodies bring to her, 

Only this message from me ! 
[23] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



A BETROTHAL 

" T LOVE you," he whispered low, 
A In joy, for a moment bold ; 
And suddenly, white as snow, 
The warm little hand grew cold. 

" I love you," again he said, 

And touched the soft finger-tips ; 
But shyly she bent her head, 
To hide the two trembling lips. 

"I love you," — she turned her face. 
His heart overfilled with fear ; 
When lo, on her cheek the trace 
Of one tiny passion-tear ! 

" I love you," he gently spoke, 

And kissed her, sweet, tearful-eyed ; 
The rose-blossom fetters broke : 
"I love you, too," they replied. 



A PERSIAN DANCING GIRL 

JASMINES tangled in her hair — 
Ebon hair that loosely hangs, 
Looped with silver serpent fangs, 
Swaying in the scented air. 
[24] 



A MADRIGAL 

Silken sandals on her feet — 
Tiny feet that trip in time 
To the tambourine, and rhyme 

With the tinkling music sweet. 

On her olive-tinted breast, 

Turquoise trinkets, jewels, rings — 
Lovers' tokens — gifts from kings, 

Jingle gayly, never rest. 

Now she gives a dizzy twirl 

To the measure of the dance — 
Quicker than a stolen glance, 

Glides the dainty, graceful girl. 

Just beyond the eager throng 
Lazily her lover smokes 
With his rivals, telling jokes 

Spiced with strains of Persian song. 

Idly waiting — well he knows 
How they hate him, every one. 
In the garden of the Sun 

He has picked the fairest rose. 

A MADRIGAL 

SWEETHEART, the year is young, 
And 'neath the heavens blue 
The fresh wild-flowers have hung 
Their cups to catch the dew, 
[25I 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

And love like a bird carols one soft word, 
Sweetheart, to the sapphire skies ; 

And floating aloft comes an echo soft 
" Sweetheart " — your eyes ! 

Sweetheart, the year is sweet 
With fragrance of the rose 
That bends before your feet 
As to the gale that blows. 
And love like a bird quavers one low word, 

Sweetheart, to the garden place : 
And across the glow comes an echo low 
" Sweetheart " — your face I 

Sweetheart, the year grows old ; 

Upon the meadows brown 
And forests, waving gold, 

The stars look, trembling, down. 
And love like a bird whispers one pure word, 

Sweetheart, to the cooling air ; 
And the breezes sure waft an echo pure 
" Sweetheart" — your hair ! 

Sweetheart,- the year wanes fast ; 
The summer birds have flown 
From winter's spiteful blast 
Unto a sun-bound zone. 
And love like a bird warbles one clear word, 

Sweetheart, to the balmy south ; 
And back to my ear comes an echo clear 
" Sweetheart " — your mouth ! 
[26] 



THE BOOK-HUNTER 

Sweetheart, the year is gone ; — 

Lean closer to my heart 1 
Time only weighs upon 
The loves that dwell apart. 
And love like a bird with his whole soul stirred, 

Sweetheart, shall carol his glee ; 
And to you I '11 cling while the echoes ring 
" Sweetheart " — for me ! 



THE BOOK-HUNTER 

A CUP of coffee, eggs, and rolls, 
Sustain him in his morning strolls : 
Unconscious of the passers-by, 
He trudges on with downcast eye ; 
He wears a queer old hat and coat, 
Suggestive of a style remote ; 
His manner is preoccupied, — 
A shambling gait, from side to side. 
For him the sleek, bright-windowed shop 
Is all in vain, — he does not stop. 
His thoughts are fixed on dusty shelves 
Where musty volumes hide themselves, - 
Rare prints of poetry and prose, 
And quaintly lettered folios, — 
Perchance a parchment manuscript, 
In some forgotten corner slipped, 
Or monk-illumined missal bound 
In vellum with brass clasps around ; 

[27] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

These are the pictured things that throng 
His mind the while he walks along. 

A dingy street, a cellar dim, 
With book-lined walls, suffices him. 
The dust is white upon his sleeves ; 
He turns the yellow, dog-eared leaves 
With just the same religious look 
That priests give to the Holy Book. 
He does not heed the stifling air 
If so he find a treasure there. 
He knows rare books, like precious wines, 
Are hidden where the sun ne'er shines ; 
For him delicious flavors dwell 
In books as in old Muscatel ; 
He finds in features of the type 
A clew to prove the grape was ripe. 
And when he leaves this dismal place, 
Behold, a smile lights up his face I 
Upon his cheeks a genial glow, — 
Within his hand Boccaccio, 
A first edition worn with age, 
Firenze" on the title-page. 

AT THE DOOR 

WHAT time the night-bird to the rose 
Sings of his love, 
I seek her garden-plot where grows 
A blossom-laden vine that throws 
Its arms above, 

[28] 



A REMINISCENCE 

And scales the weary stretch of stone, 

Until at length 
It clasps her lattice open thrown, 
And sees the sweet face of my own, 

And finds new strength. 

How often I have strived to climb 

Love's barrier wall 
Upon the ladder of my rhyme : 
A little way, — yet, time on time, 

I faint and fall. 

Methinks if once I could but rise 

Up to the bars, 
And gather courage from those eyes 
To speak — so close unto the skies — 

Unto the stars — 

Alas, my fancy goes no more ! 

Perhaps 't would be 
As if, with weary feet and sore, 
I came to Heaven's closed door 

Without a key. 

A REMINISCENCE 

THERE was a time, fond girl, when you 
Were partial to caresses ; 
Before your graceful figure grew 
Too tall for ankle-dresses ; 
[29I 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

When " Keys and Pillows," and the rest 

Of sentimental pastimes, 
Were thought to be the very best 

Amusement out of class-times. 

You wore your nut-brown hair in curls 

That reached beyond your bodice, 
Quite in the style of other girls, — 

But you I thought a goddess ! 
I wrote you letters, long and short, 

How many there 's no telling I 
Imagination was my forte : — 

I can't say that of spelling I 

We shared our sticks of chewing-gum, 

Our precious bits of candy ; 
Together solved the knotty sum, 

And learned the ars amandi: 
Whene'er you wept, a woeful lump 

Stuck in my throat, delayed there 1 
My sympathetic heart would jump : — 

I wondered how it stayed there ! 

We meet to-day, — we meet, alas ! 

With salutation formal ; 
I 'm in the college senior class, 

You study at the Normal ; 
And as we part I think again, 

And sadly wonder whether 
You wish, as I, we loved as when 

We sat at school together ! 
[30] 



LOVE'S SEASONS 
LOVE'S SEASONS 

TWAS spring when I first found it out ; 
'T was autumn when I told it ; 
The gloomy winter made me doubt, 
And summer scarce could hold it : 
" She loves," the mating robins sang 
In sweet, delicious trebles, 
And through the brooks the echo rang 
In music o'er the pebbles. 

The fresh air, filled with fragrant scent 

Of blossoms, softly hinted 
The self-same song; where'er I went 

I found the message printed 
On bud and leaf, on earth and sky ; 

Through sun and rain it glistened, 
And though I never reasoned why, 

I always read or listened. 

The summer dawned, and still the birds 

Sang in their tree-top glory, 
And something seemed to make their words 

A sequel to my story : 
" You love," they twittered in the trees ; 

Whene'er the light wind stirred them, — 
Distracting words !* — on every breeze 

They fluttered, and I heard them. 

At last the mellow autumn came, 
And all the leaves were turning, 
[31 1 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

The fields and forests were aflame 

In golden sunlight burning ; 
The parting birds sang out again 

A sentimental message ; 
° Go tell her," whispered they, and then 

I thought 't was love's first presage. 

O timid-hearted twenty-four, 

To faint and lose your courage, 
Or half-reluctantly implore 

A pretty girl at her age ! 
For when I stammered what they 'd sung, 

And all their secrets told her, 
She said the birds were right, and hung 

Her head upon my shoulder. 



AN AVOWAL 

THERE 'S a word in my heart, dare I tell it ? 
A dangerous, wonderful word : 
It calls, and I hush it and quell it ; 

It flutters and calls like a bird 
Made captive from out its dark prison, 

And begs for a glimmer of light ; 
Up, up to my throat it is risen, 
And poises for flight. 

Her eyes are like stars softly shining, 
Each one has a sparkle within ; 
[32] 



AN AVOWAL 

And radiant roses are twining 

In cheeks where my kisses have been. 

But something of sadness and sorrow, 
A shadowy emblem of doom, 

Seems whispering, " Wait for the morrow ! " 
And leaves me in gloom. 

One touch of her exquisite fingers, 

One pressure of velvety tips, 
In memory's mazes still lingers ; 

One kiss is still fresh on my lips. 
But down in my heart in a flutter 

A bird dwells to tenderly sing 
The song that my lips dare not utter, 

The song of a ring, — 

A ring wrought of gold, with a jewel 

Imbedded within it that tries 
To flash back the soft or the cruel 

Light locked in her beautiful eyes. 
Will she wear it, I wonder, a token 

Of all that my heart holds so fast 
That the fetters remain yet unbroken 

And firm to the last ? 

There it comes ! What a ghost of a shiver 
Just ran through my stammering tongue ! 

And down in my heart there 's a quiver 
Of something that ought to be sung. 
[33] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

One word — ah, my darling, you know it ; 

The long captive songster has flown ! 
Love — love — is the burden ; the poet 

Loves you — you alone ! 



IN PARENTHESIS 

I READ the verses from my copy, 
A bunch of fancies culled from Keats, 
A rhyme of rose and drowsy poppy, 

Of maiden, song, and other sweets : 
The lines — so patiently I penned them, 

Without one sable blot or blur — 
I knew had music to commend them 
And all their secret thoughts to her. 

She heard the rhythmical romanza, 

And made a comment there and here ; 
I read on to the final stanza, 

Where timid love had made me fear. 
A long parenthesis ; the metre 

Went lamely on without a foot, 
Because the sentiment was sweeter 

Than love emboldened me to put. 

Alas, I tried to fill the bracket ; 

The truant thought refused to come ! 
The point, — to think the rhyme should lack it ! 

My wakeful conscience struck me dumb. 
[34l 



TO MY MESSAGE 

She took the little leaf a minute, — 
Ah, what a happy time was this ! 

The bracket soon had something in it, 
I kissed her in parenthesis. 

TO MY MESSAGE 

WHEN in her lap you lie, 
Little note, 
Look upward to your sky — 
A tender, mild blue eye, 

A round, rose-colored throat, 
An exquisite white chin 
With one star-dimple in : 
Look upward from her lap's 
Soft pillow, and perhaps 

You may see 
Her think of me. 

And if by happy chance, 

Letter mine, 
You see her blue eyes glance 
Across your smooth expanse, 

Or fixed upon the line 
Which rhymes with all the love 
Reflected there above, 

Grieve not that you are dumb ; 
But think that I shall come 

Once again, — 
Your spokesman then. 
[35] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Ah me ! would I, like you, 

Missive slight, 
Might watch those clear eyes blue, 
That throat and white chin, too, 

And read them all aright, — 
Might feel the red lips touch 
My own, — I 'd give — how much ! 

Just once to take your place, 

My paradise her face 
And a part 
Of her dear heart. 



A CIGAR 

ALONE I puff soft wreaths of blue 
jL\. That frame a most delightful view ; 
A little library with two 

Together sitting : 
A youth and girl. Upon her knees 
A novel with a hero ; he 's 
A ghostly circumstance to these 

Quaint wraps she 's knitting. 

The lover holds the worsted, and 
Just touches one fair pinky hand : 
How well her bright eyes understand ! 

For soon, unbidden, 
Two scarlet lips begin to move 
A conversation in that groove 
[36] 



A CIGAR 

Where chosen words quite clearly prove 
The subject hidden. ' 

And then the knitting 's laid aside ; 

The needle 's dropped; and some sweet guide 

Leads both his hands to haply hide 

Two others whiter. 
I listen, and a mellow note 
Slips through the rosy, rounded throat : 
I hear the happy lover quote 

The novel's writer. 

The writer, — ah, what kind fates come 

To keep harsh criticism from 

His little book : perhaps 't is some 
Such situation ; — 

A picture similar to this, 

Portraying a brief spell of bliss, 

And punctuated with a kiss- 
Interrogation. 

I see the faces slowly meet, 
And shy, uncertain glances greet : 
The knitting 's fallen to her feet ; 

And on his shoulder 
Her head in golden glory lies, 
While, fathoming her lovely eyes, 
He reads the tenderest replies, — 

Love growing bolder. 

[37] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

But, while I dream in idleness, 
And wonder whether she will bless 
His hearing with a whispered "yes," 

With drooping lashes ; 
The picture fades from sight afar 
As pales at morn a silver star ; 
I seek the light of my cigar, 

And find but ashes. 

A BUNDLE OF LETTERS 

STRANGE how much sentiment 
Clings like a fragrant scent 
To these love-letters pent 

In their pink covers : 
Day after day they came 
Feeding love's fickle flame ; — 
Now, she has changed her name, — 
Then we were lovers. 

Loosen the silken band 
Round the square bundle, and 
See what a dainty hand 

Scribbled to fill it 
Full facetious chat ; 
Fancy how long she sat 
Moulding the bullets that 

Came with each billet ! 

Ah, I remember still 
Time that I used to kill 
[38] 



A BUNDLE OF LETTERS 

Waiting the postman's shrill, 

Heart-stirring whistle, 
Calling vague doubts to mind, 
Whether or no I 'd find 
That he had left behind 
One sweet epistle. 

Seconds become an age 
At this exciting stage ; 
Two eager eyes the page 

Scan for a minute ; 
Then, with true lover's art, 
Study it part by part, 
Until they know by heart 

Everything in it. 

What is it all about ? 
Dashes for words left out, — 
Pronouns beyond a doubt ! 

Very devoted. 
Howells she 's just begun ; 
Dobson her heart has won ; 
Locker and Tennyson 

Frequently quoted. 

Criss-cross the reading goes, 
Rapturous rhyme and prose, — 
Words which I don't suppose 

Look very large in 
Books on the " ologies " ; 
Then there 's a tiny frieze 
[39 1 ' 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Full of sweets in a squeeze, 
Worked on the margin. 

Lastly, — don't pause to laugh ! — 
That is her autograph 
Signing this truce for half 

Her heart's surrender ; 
Post-scriptum, one and two, — 
Desserts, — the dinner 's through ! - 
Linking the " I " and " You " 

In longings tender. 

Such is the type of all 
Save one, and let me call 
Brief notice to this small 

Note neatly written : 
'T is but a card, you see, 
Gently informing me 
That it can never be ! — 

This is the mitten ! 

A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA 

DEAR Priscilla, quaint, and very 
Like a modern Puritan, 
Is a modest, literary, 

Merry young American : 
Horace she has read, and Bion 

Is her favorite in Greek ; 
Shakspere is a mighty lion 

In whose den she dares but peek ; 
[40] 



A RHYME FOR PRISCILLA 

Him she leaves to some sage Daniel, 

Since of lions she 's afraid, — 
She prefers a playful spaniel, 

Such as Her rick or as Praed ; 
And it 's not a bit satiric 

To confess her fancy goes 
From the epic to a lyric 

On a rose. 

Wise Priscilla, dilettante, 

With a sentimental mind, 
Does n't deign to dip in Dante, 

And to Milton is n't kind ; 
L' Allegro, II Penseroso, 

Have some merits she will grant, 
All the rest is only so-so, — 

Enter Paradise she can't ! 
She might make a charming angel 

(And she will if she is good, 
But it 's doubtful if the change '11 

Make the Epic understood); 
Honey-suckling, like a bee she 

Goes and pillages his sweets, 
And it 's plain enough to see she 

Worships Keats. 

Gay Priscilla, — just the person 
For the Locker whom she loves ; 

What a captivating verse on 
Her neat-fitting gowns or gloves 
[41 1 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

He could write in catching measure, 

Setting all the heart astir I 
And to Aldrich what a pleasure 

It would be to sing of her, — 
He, whose perfect songs have won her 

Lips to quote them day by day. 
She repeats the rhymes of Bunner 

In a fascinating way, 
And you '11 often find her lost in — 

She has reveries at times — 
Some delightful one of Austin 

Dobson's rhymes. 

Priscilla, sweet Priscilla. 
Writing of you makes me think, 

As I burn my brown Manila, 

And immortalize my ink, 
How well satisfied these poets 

Ought to be with what they do, 
When, especially, they know it 's 

Read by such a girl as you : 

1 who sing of you would marry 
Just the kind of girl you are, — 

One who does n't care to carry 
Her poetic taste too far, — 

One whose fancy is a bright one, 
Who is fond of poems fine, 

And appreciates a light one 
Such as mine. 

[42] 



HER GUITAR 
A PERSIAN NOCTURNE 

O NIGHTINGALE among the leaves 
Who singest to the blushing rose, 
Thy liquid, mellow music cleaves 

The garden's fragrance where it goes ! 
Who taught thy feathered slender throat 
This strange, delicious, limpid note, 

Which soaring skyward through the dark 
In swift, melodious pursuit, 

Tempts all the trembling stars to hark, 
And all the rustling leaves be mute ? 

Teach me thy song, O happy bird, 

That, 'neath the window of my love, 
My lips may speak some honeyed word 

With wings to waft it up above : 
And when she comes her starry eyes 
Shall shame their rivals in the skies ; — 

Her cheeks shall mock the rose; — and thou, 
Beholding what thou thinkest thine, — 

Perched lightly on the lofty bough, — 
Shalt leave thy rose, and sing to mine I 

HER GUITAR 

BY the fire that loves to tint her 
Cheeks the color of a rose, 
While the wanton winds of winter 
Lose the landscape in the snows, — 

[43] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

While the air grows keen and bitter, 

And the clean-cut silver stars 
Tremble in the cold and glitter 

Through the twilight's dusky bars, - 
In a cozy room where lingers 

Happy Time on folded wings, 
I am watching five white fingers 

Float across six slender strings 
Of an old guitar, held lightly, — 

Captivated while she sets, 
Here and there, five others tightly 

On the frets. 

Lost in loving contemplation 

Of the fair, shy, girlish face 
Conscious of no admiration, 

Posed with such a charming grace 
O'er this instrument some Spanish 

Serenader used to keep 
Hidden till the sun would vanish 

And the birds were fast asleep ; 
Who, below his loved one's casement, 

With the mellow southern moon 
Through a leafy interlacement 

Shining softly, thrummed a tune : 
Did she answer it, I wonder ? 

Did she frame a sweet reply ? 
Did she grant the wish made under 

Such a sky ? 

[44] 



THE MUSE 

This I know, if she had listened 

To the melody I 've heard, 
Mute confessions must have glistened 

In her eyes at every word ; 
And the very stars above her 

Must have whispered, one by one, 
Something sentimental of her 

When the serenade was done. 
For this music has but ended, 

And I leave my dreams to find 
With the notes are somehow blended 

Like confessions of my mind; 
And the gentle girl who guesses 

What these broken secrets are, 
Is the one whose arm caresses 

This guitar. 

THE MUSE 

FOR months I had suffered derision, 
A siege of poetical blues ; 
The fair mythological vision 

Familiarly known as the Muse 
Had vanished and left me deserted, 

The frozen rhyme-rills would n't run 
While she, Miss Calliope, flirted 
With some other son. 

The ink which I penned every word of 
Once put upon paper, — it froze ; 
(45l 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Presto ! — transformation unheard of ! 

The poetry turned into prose. 
'T was clear that the rhymes were not running 

In pairs simultaneous then, 
'T was clear that my hand had lost cunning, 

And likewise my pen. 

I conquered some mental depression 

In this philosophical grief : 
The Muse may repent her transgression, 

I reasoned, — and turn a new leaf, 
And some happy day, unexpected, 

Return and do penance a time 
By having her manners corrected 

In trivial rhyme. 

Alas for the "rhyme" with the "reason," 

Those two incompatible words ! 
I had as well dreamed of a season 

Of snow with its roses and birds. 
Calliope, I 'd had enough of, — 

Here Shakspere's remark came to aid 
My brain with a trope : — She 's the stuff of 

Which visions are made. 

Then sudden, with never a warning, 
A voice at my side bade me write, 

As if out of darkness the morning 
Had flooded the landscape with light ; 
[46] 



FOR SAYNTE VALENTYNE, HIS DAYE 

The rhymes came again like the verdure 
Which lifts to the heavens above, — 

Ah, Sweetheart, 't was then that I heard your 
Lips murmuring love ! 



FOR SAYNTE VALENTYNE, HIS DAYE 

GOE, little Rhyme, & greete Her, 
Goe, tell Her y* I thinke 
Things infinitely sweeter 

Y n I maie putt in Inke ; 
Y e Musick of y e metre 

Shal linger on y e Aire 
Y e whiles She turns y e Leaves & learns 
Y e Secrett hidden there. 

Flye, little Leafe of Paper, 

Flye, merrie-hearted Bird, 
& lett your Fancie shape Her 

Some dear & simple Word 
Soe Sweete it sha'n't escape Her, 

& if a Blushe you see 
Steale upp & chase across Her face, 

Return & counsell me. 

Haste, little God! I send Her, 

Bye You, y s MS, 
W ch hopefull Love has penned Her 

Withe quill in Honie dipt ; 
[47 1 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Haste ! bidd Her Heart be tender 

Unto y e lightsome Line 
Where I in maske have come to aske 

To be Her Valentyne ! 



TO CUPID, FEBRUARY 14 

CUPID, goe to Her in haste, 
Saye my Hearte is hopefull ; 
Of y e Songes y* She has graced, 

Here 's an Envelope full. 
Kiss Her once — y s be your Fee ; 

Kiss Her twice — for mine ! 
Kiss Her thrice & three times three, 
Telle Her you have come to be 
Her Valentyne ! 

Cupid, goe in haste to Her, 

Saye my Hearte is lonely ; 
Hasten, prettie Messenger, 

Bring Her to me — only 
Kiss Her once — y s be your Fee ; 

Kiss Her twice — for mine ! 
I shall kiss Her three times three, 
When you bring Her back to be 

My Valentyne! 



[48] 



ENGAGED 



ENGAGED 

MUTE the music of the fiddle 
When we wandered to the door ; 
Must have been about the middle 
Of the night, or may be more. 
Every poising of her face let 

Loose the rhapsodies of love ; 
Every movement of her bracelet, 
Or her glove. 

After each adieu was bidden, 

Leisurely we took our leave ; 
One white hand was half-way hidden 

In a corner of my sleeve. 
Foolishly my fancy lingers ! 

Still, what can a captive do ? 
Just the pressure of her fingers 

Thrilled me through. 

Spoke we of the pleasant dances, 

Costumes, supper, and the wine ; 
Gossiped of the stolen glances ; 

Guessed engagements, — mentioned mine. 
Some old sorrow to her eye lent 

Tears that trickled while we talked, 
And I found her growing silent 

As we walked. 

(49) 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

My engagement ? Queer, why stupid 

People peddle little lies ! 
Here, beside us, cunning Cupid 

Shot his arrows from her eyes ; 
In my heart a twinge and flutter 

Followed fast each dart he dealt, 
And my tongue tried hard to utter 

What I felt. 

Standing near the polished newel, 

With the gas turned very low, 
Conscience seemed to whisper, " Cruel, 

Tell the truth before you go ! " 
So my courage, getting firmer, 

Set her doubtings all aright ; 
Tiny hands came with the murmur, 

" Now, good-night ! " 

T was the same delicious lisp heard 

At the dance — a merry strain ! 
True the voice now softly whispered, — 

True she let her hands remain 
In my own, as if in token 

Of some wish in sweet eclipse, 
Cherished lovingly, unspoken 

By her lips. 

Long-lashed eyelids gently drooping, 
Face suffused with scarlet flush, 

Told the secret, as I, stooping, 
Kissed the rose-leaf of her blush : 
[ 50 1 



A LYRIC 

Like some happy, sunny island 

In a sea of joy was I ; 
Quick she turned her face to smile, and 

Said " Good-by ! " 

When we met the morning after, 

Blithe as any bird was she ; 
Music mingled with her laughter, 

Every word was love to me. 
So the genial Mrs. Grundy, 

Seeing how our hearts are caged, 
Tells the truth at church next Sunday — 

" They 're engaged ! " 

A LYRIC 

LADY, at your lattice I 
Launch this lyric to the sky 
On the fragrant tides of musk 
Dewy blooms exale at dusk ; 
Love its pilot, — only Love 
Left to haven it above, — 
Left to guide it through the bars 
Of the twilight to the stars ; 
And these sentinels who keep 
Careful vigils o'er your sleep 
Shall to your soft slumber bring 
This love lyric which I sing ; 
Thus throughout the summer night 
Melody shall make delight 
[5i] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Mingle with your dreams, and be 
Love's petitioners for me, 
Till the East shall hint of day, 
And the stars shall sail away 
Making music-billows break 
On your lids and whisper : Wake ! — 
Till I see your curtain drawn 
And your rosy face — the Dawn ! 

AN UNTUTORED MIND 

WHEN I was but a lad of eight, 
And Dorothy was turning seven, 
My life seemed spent close by the gate 

Of what I had imagined Heaven ; 
So sweet was Dorothy, and mild, 

To every fault of mine so tender, 
I grew to love her as a child 

Accustomed always to befriend her. 

Through school hours I observed her dress. 

Plain calico to me was satin ; 
The habit often cost recess 

And many weary lines of Latin. 
She very seldom turned her face, 

Replete with roses, fair and ruddy ; 
She seemed to think the school a place 

For strict deportment and for study. 

In all the classes she was first ; 

She graduated, — went to college, — 
[52] 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 

Returned most wonderfully versed 

In every branch and twig of knowledge. 

Alas ! I wear no savant's cap ! 

My brain is not a book-condenser ! 

No doubt she '11 marry that young chap 
I hear her call " Dear Herbert Spencer ! " 

THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 

STILL on the corner stands the school 
Where my first steps were taken, 
The butt of public ridicule, 
Deserted and forsaken ; 
The belfry no more boasts the bell 

Whose tumult used to measure 
My boyhood's hour, and ring the knell 
To every prank and pleasure. 

The town has shifted foot by foot 

As tempore mutantur, 
And wisdom's wine to-day is put 

Into a new decanter 
Whose bright exterior seems to hold 

A vital essence cheery, 
Yet just this morning I was told 

'T was dull within and dreary. 

The boy is father of the man : 

He lives and thinks as I did 
When, in short trousers, I began 

To have my joys divided. 
[53l 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

He took me back to this old place 

So with my youth connected, 
And looking in the youngster's face 

This picture was reflected. 

Out from the pages of my book, 

Too pictureless for study, 
I sometimes used to steal a look 

At one face, round and ruddy ; 
'T was wrong I knew, — 't was very wrong, 

And cost me much derision 
When I was laboring with Long — 

O, — very Long Division ! 

My copy-book with faultless lines 

Of precept for each letter 
Was scribbled over with " Be mine "-s, 

A phrase which I wrote better 
Than any admonition there : 

It somehow seemed to nourish 
My jaded heart to read it where 

I 'd penned it with a flourish. 

No matter how I strived to learn, — 

No matter how I studied, 
Once give my head the proper turn 

And then my eyes were flooded ; 
For there across the room sat she 

Who balked my brain's endeavor : — 
[54] 



THE VILLAGE SCHOOL 

Thought I, one day I '11 whisper " Be 
And she '11 be mine forever. 



Old school among the summer morns' 

And afternoons' long dozes — 
Those hours of mingled mental thorns — 

You put some minute-roses ; 
One — one you put — to me the best, — 

The sweet face of my story, 
Who budded, bloomed, then, like the rest, 

Died in her fullest glory. 

Ah me, the children you have known, — 

The girl with bird-like laughter, — 
The boy whose penitential moan 

Pierced to your topmost rafter, — 
Who hears to-day the voice of mirth, 

Or sorrow's peal, I wonder ! 
How many yet are on the earth? 

Alas, — how many under ! 

Fit emblem of the change of time, — 

Minerva's palace-ruin, 
Take this, a pupil's idle rhyme 

With love and me and you in ; 
And may the boy whose school-hours seem 

To-day so dull and gloomy, 
Grown up, inherit such a dream 

As you have pictured to me. 

(55 1 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



A COLONIAL MISSIVE 

BY Dorothy in Cambridge town 
This letter quaint was written 
To some young chap in cap and gown 

Whose happy heart was smitten, 
Long years ago when stately dames 

Were puffed and powdered Madams, 
And these were frequent college names, 
Ware, Eliot, and Adams. 

The college yard was larger then, — 

The roll of students only 
Could muster up a hundred men, — 

Think, now-a-days, how lonely ! 
Yet almost every one of those 

Who won an A.B. honor 
Has left a name whose glory throws 

The laurels thick upon her. 

Dear Harvard ! It is hard to sing 

Of this un-Annexed maiden 
Without forgetting everything 

Save you. My mind is laden 
With memories of by-gone days 

When I was wont to travel 
To lectures and the triumph blaze 

Across the paths of gravel, 
f 56] 



A COLONIAL MISSIVE 

Just how this lad and lassie looked, 

Or what was his or her name — 
Her easy running quill ne'er crooked 

The semblance of a surname, — 
It matters not. I like to think 

I see her in the creamy 
Old paper 'twixt the lines of ink, — 

A face refined and dreamy. 

I picture her in homespun dress, 

Each small foot in a sandal, 
Her features full of tenderness 

Illumined by a candle, 
Her quill a feather slim and white 

Above the square of paper, 
The hand that guides it left or right 

Small, and the fingers taper. 

Those were the days of waxen seals 

And " f "-ish looking " s "-es, 
Of high-heeled boots and spinning-wheels 

On which they spun their dresses; 
And in this missive one may find 

Such candor in a sentence 
'T would bring, if one were half inclined, 

A sinner to repentance. 

'T is faded somewhat since it felt 
Her fingers smooth its features, 

And with it Father Time has dealt 
As with us human creatures : 
[57 1 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

A wrinkle wreathes its inky smile 
And hides the comma-dimple, 

And makes it seem severe in style 
Which is severely simple. 

Ah, Cambridge Dorothy, I know 

As long as you were living — 
A rose-face framed in locks of snow, — 

His love had no misgiving ; 
And this love-letter which you penned, — 

Fast deepening to yellow, 
Seems thus to whisper : Like me, Friend, 

Let love make thy life mellow ! 

GOOD-NIGHT 

THE white stars blossom in the skies, 
Like daisies strewn in azure aisles ; 
I miss but two, — the gentle eyes 
That greet me with your smiles. 

Love's small astronomy is mine 

Who missing these miss all the rest : 

I hate these rival lights that shine 
To mock my lonely quest. 

Good-night, and may the angels keep 
Their faithful watches o'er each lid, 

Behind whose fringes, bathed in sleep, 
A turquoise sky is hid. 



A PACIFIC DAWN 

SONNETS 

BREEZES OF MORNING 

ONCE, when the doors of night were open thrown, 
I saw the pink-robed Dawn, - — as one who sees 
A rose-bud opening by slow degrees, — 
Step from the Orient, a golden zone 
About her waist : then, sudden, softly blown 
On fragile blossom-bugles by the breeze, 
I heard the fragrant roll-call of the bees 
And saw them troop responsive to the tone. 

And as I watched them drain their cups of dew, 
And saw them dart and flash their saffron stripes 
In all the opal radiance of dawn, 
The mythic age seemed merged into the new, 
And Pan once more upon his slender pipes 

Called to the dance the nimble nymph and faun. 

A PACIFIC DAWN 

WHEN pale Selene, in her crescent boat, 
Sails down unto the margin of the West 
Through shoals of stars that twinkle in unrest, 
In fancy's bark I follow her, and float 
O'er sapphire seas to dreamy realms remote, 
And at my side there goes a feathered guest 
[59] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Who sings to cheer me, and the air is blest 
With melody responsive to his note. 

On, on I journey in the starry wake, 
And all about me is the purple dark 

Whence blow the winds by which my bark 
is borne ; 
And suddenly the poppy fetters break, 
The moon is gone, and in the field a lark 
Pays tribute to the faint Pacific morn. 



A BUTTERFLY IN WALL STREET 

WNGED wanderer from clover meadows sweet, 
Where all day long beneath a smiling sky 
You drained the wild-flowers' cups of honey dry 
And heard the drowsy winds their love repeat, 
What idle zephyr, whispering deceit, 

Captured your heart and tempted you to fly 
Unto this noisy town and vainly pry 
Into the secrets of this busy street ? 

To me your unexpected presence brings 

A thought of fragrant pastures, buds and flowers, 
And sleepy brooks, and cattle in the fold ; 
Or, watching as you soar on trembling wings, 
I think for those who toil through weary hours 
You are a type of their uncertain gold ! 

[60] 



STRATEGY 



THE DANCING GYPSY 

UPON a mottled, tawny leopard-skin 
Spread in the sunshine on the dusty ground, 
Stood she, — a gypsy girl; and, circled round, 
Sat dusky youths who made a merry din 
With wild, barbaric drums, while she, within, — 
A graceful figure, by no garments bound, — 
Danced to the tambourine's discordant sound, 
And mocked the instrument's delirious spin. 

Outside the ring were grouped some Arab boys, 
Who chattered glibly in the golden sun, 

And sang weird strains of song by fits and starts ; 
They seemed unconscious of the swelling noise, 
Yet he alone was so, — her chosen one: 

For all the rest, she danced upon their hearts ! 



STRATEGY 

MUSE, grant me some new simile to sing 
Her matchless grace and loveliness, and tell 
What words shall fit the lyric's measure well, 
What metre smooth unto her lips to bring : 
Then shall my song be like an antique ring 
In whose small circlet precious jewels dwell, — 
Each line a gem to bribe the sentinel 
That guards her heart against Love's eager king. 
[ 61 ] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Then as she lends her eyes to read my song 
Perchance her heart its portals wide will throw 
And give admittance to Love's messenger, 
Who, summoning his king's impatient throng, 
Shall capture it, and come to let me know 
How easily he won a truce from her. 



RE-AWAKENING 

WITHIN a spot where slept the silent dead, 
I wandered once when spring had kissed the 
earth, 
And set around its breast an emerald girth 
Of grass, entangling roses white and red ; 
Among the leafy branches overhead 

The mating robins twittered in their mirth, — 
All nature seemed rejoicing in new birth 
Beneath the canopy the blue skies spread : 

And as I sat beside one mossy stone 

Kissed by a hundred suns of summer skies, 

A sudden joy came to my heart, alone 

Among those graves, to think the dead shall rise 

In God's eternal spring when sounds are blown 
On angels' instruments in Paradise ! 



[62] 



A NEW YEAR'S MASQUE 

MISS THOMAS'S "A NEW YEAR'S 
MASQUE" 

SHE finds companionship in field and wood, 
A friendly face in every path and nook ; 
The skies for her wear no uncertain look ; 
She comprehends the mystery and mood 
Of winds and waves and Heaven's starry brood ; 
She knows the message of the bird and brook ; 
For her all Nature is an open book, 
And solitary means not solitude. 

With this small volume as your talisman, 

When all the world is shrouded in the snows, 
Sit down and read these music-making words : 
And winter's blasts shall seem the winds that fan 
Your face in June — sweet with the breath of rose, 
And tremulous with twitterings of birds ! 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

FRENCH FOLLIES 

COME, PAN, AND PIPE 

COME, Pan, and pipe upon the reed, 
And make the mellow music bleed, 
As once it did in days of yore, 
Along the brook's leaf-tangled shore, 
Through sylvan shade and fragrant mead. 

On Hybla honey come and feed, — 
To tempt the Fauns in dance to lead 
The Dryads on the mossy floor, — 
Come, Pan, and pipe ! 

To-day the ghosts — Gold, Gain, and Greed, 
The world pursues with savage speed : 

Forgotten is your magic lore. 

Oh, bring it back to us once more ! 
For simple, rustic song we plead : 
Come, Pan, and pipe ! 

WHEN TWILIGHT COMES 

WHEN twilight comes, and nature stills 
The hum that haunts the dales and hills, 
Dim shadows deepen and combine, 
And Heaven with its crystal wine 
The cups of thirsty roses fills. 
[64] 



AN OLD RONDO 

Blithe birds, with music-burdened bills, 
Hush for a space their tender trills, 
And seek their homes in tree and vine 
When twilight comes. 

Soft melody the silence thrills, 
Played by the nymphs along the rills ; 
And where the dew-kist grasses twine, 
The toads and crickets tattoo fine 
Drums to the fife of whip-poor-wills, 
When twilight comes. 

AN OLD RONDO 

HER scuttle Hatt is wondrous wide, 
All furrie, too, on every side ; 
Soe out She trippeth daintylie, 
To lett y e Youth full well to see 
How fayre y e mayde is for y e Bryde. 

A lyttle puffed, may be, bye Pryde, 
She yet soe lovelye is that I 'd 
A Shillynge give to tye, perdie, 
Her scuttle Hatt. 

Y e Coales into y e Scuttle slide, 
Soe in her Hatt wolde I, and hide 

To steale some Kisses — two or three; 
But synce She never asketh me, 
Y e scornful Cynick doth deride 
Her scuttle Hatt ! 
[65I 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



BEHIND HER FAN 

BEHIND her fan of downy fluff, 
Sewed on soft saffron satin stuff, 
With peacock feathers, purple-eyed, 
Caught daintily on either side, 
The gay coquette displays a puff : 

Two blue eyes peep above the buff : 
Two pinky pouting lips, . . . enough ! 
That cough means surely come and hide 
Behind her fan. 

The barque of Hope is trim and tough, 
So out I venture on the rough, 

Uncertain sea of girlish pride. 

A breeze ! I tack against the tide, — 
Capture a kiss and catch a cuff, — 
Behind her fan. 



HER CHINA CUP 

HER china cup is white and thin ; 
A thousand times her heart has been 
Made merry at its scalloped brink ; 
And in the bottom, painted pink, 
A dragon greets her with a grin. 

The brim her kisses loves to win ; 
The handle is a manikin, 
[66] 



TO CUPID 

Who spies the foes that chip or chink 
Her china cup. 

Muse, tell me if it be a sin : 

I watch her lift it past her chin 
Up to the scarlet lips and drink 
The Oolong draught. Somehow I think 

I 'd like to be the dragon in 
Her china cup ! 



TO CUPID 

CUPID, tell me how to twine 
Words like roses in a line, 
Fit my lady's eyes to greet, 
For her red lips to repeat 
That her heart may fathom mine. 

How to make each sentence shine — 
Love with modest speech combine — 
How to set her heart a-beat — 
Cupid, tell me ! 

Tell me, may I dare to sign 
All the love and fancies fine — 

All the thoughts and secrets sweet, 
That I lay before her feet ? 
Does she love her Valentine ? 
Cupid, tell me ! 

[6 7 ] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 



"AWAKE, AWAKE!" 

AWAKE, awake, O gracious heart, 
jljL There 's some one knocking at the door ! 
The chilling breezes make him smart; 
His little feet are tired and sore. 

Arise, and welcome him before 

Adown his cheeks the big tears start : 
Awake, awake, O gracious heart, 

There 's some one knocking at the door ! 

T is Cupid come with loving art 

To honor, worship, and implore ; 

And lest, unwelcomed, he depart 

With all his wise, mysterious lore, 

Awake, awake, O gracious heart, 

There 's some one knocking at the door ! 

TO MY LOVE 

OUTSIDE, the blasts of winter blow 
Across the city clad in white ; 
Each flake of madly driven snow 

A demon seems, with teeth that bite ; 
The windows rattle as with fright, 
And winds the chimney whistle through : 

Alone with memory, to-night, 
I 'm happy, thinking, love, of you. 
[68] 



VALENTINE TO AN ANONYMOUS MISS 

Within, I watch the embers glow ; 

The slender flames in sudden flight 
Leap from the crackling logs, and throw 

Around the room a golden light ; 

Romantic tales their tongues recite, 
And mellow songs, as if they knew, 

Alone with memory, to-night, 
I 'm happy, thinking, love, of you. 

From Dreamland all my fancies flow ; 

My friendly books, with faces bright, 
Return my listless gaze, and show 

No sign of sorrow at the slight. 

Hark ! from the steeple's dizzy height 
The bells the air with echoes strew : 

"Alone with memory, to-night, 
I 'm happy, thinking, love, of you." 

Envoy 
Love, let this song of mine invite 

Your sweeter voice to echo, too ; — 
" Alone with memory, to-night, 

I 'm happy, thinking, love, of you ! *' 

VALENTINE TO AN ANONYMOUS MISS 

GOLDEN locks in cunning curl ; 
Eyes like jewels set in rings ; 
Teeth, a row of polished pearl ; 
Lips two rosy blossomings ; 
[69] 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Spryly to my side he springs : 
Pray, who is this fairy fine ? 
At my feet he coyly flings — 
" Will you be my Valentine ? " 

Ah, my brain is in a whirl, 

Thinking on such dainty things ! 

*T is young Cupid ; see him furl 
At his back two tiny wings 1 
Just between, a quiver swings, 

Dipt in love's delicious wine, 
To each dart the flavor clings — 
" Will you be my Valentine ? " 

Watching, I shall see him hurl 
Recklessly these sugared stings ; 

Shaped like lips of some sweet girl 
Is the bow his shoulder slings — 
Silken hair twined for the strings. 

Snap! — What ails this heart of mine, 
Clamoring with questionings? — 
" Will you be my Valentine ? " 

Envoy 

Muse, unto the maid who sings 
For my ears this teasing line, 

This reply the echo brings ; — 
" Will you be my Valentine ? " 



[70] 



A COQUETTE 



A COQUETTE 

SHE wears a most bewitching bang, — 
Gold curls made captive in a net ; 
Her dresses with precision hang ; 
Her hat observes the stylish set ; 
She has a poodle for a pet, 
And drives a dashing drag and pony ; 

I know it, though we 've never met, — 
I 've seen her picture by Sarony. 

Her phrases all are fraught with slang, 

The very latest she can get ; 
She sings the songs that Patience sang, 

Can whistle airs from " Olivette," 

And, in the waltz, perhaps, might let 
You squeeze her hand, with gems all stony 

I know it, though we Ve never met, — 
I 've seen her picture by Sarony. 

Her heart has never felt love's pang, 

Nor known a momentary fret ; 
Want never wounds her with his fang ; 

She likes to run Papa in debt ; 

She '11 smoke a slender cigarette 
Sub rosa with a favored crony : 

I know it, though we 've never met, — 
I 've seen her picture by Sarony. 
[7i 1 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

Envoy 

Princess, beware this gay coquette ! 

She has no thoughts of matrimony : 
I know it, though we 've never met, — 

I 've seen her picture by Sarony. 

A SWELL 

HIS forehead he fringes and decks 
With carefully cut Montagues ; 
He angles his arms semi-X, 
And dresses in delicate hues ; 
His haunts are the rich avenues ; 
Staccato is somewhat his gait ; 
It takes but a wink to amuse 
His sadly impoverished pate. 

His costumes are covered with checks ; 

He travels in taper-toed shoes 
Through Vanity Fair, there to vex 

The silly young heart that he wooes ; 

He 's clever with cards and with cues, 
And banters with Fortune and Fate : 

Alas, that the lad cannot lose 
His sadly impoverished pate ! 

He 's fond of the frivolous sex ; 

His light conversation he strews 
With "toffy," — aught else would perplex 

The topic his fancy pursues ; 

[72] 



OF RHYME 

The cud of contentment he chews, 
While women and wealth on him wait ; 

And nature with nothing endues 
His sadly impoverished pate. 

Envoy 

Fair princesses, all who peruse 
This ballade, beware, ere too late, 

Lest Opulence hear you abuse 
His sadly impoverished pate ! 

OF RHYME 

WHEN blossoms born of balmy spring 
Breathe fragrance in the pleasant shade 
Of branches where the blue-birds sing, 
Their hearts with music overweighed ; 
When brooks go babbling through the glade, 
And over rocks the grasses climb 

To greet the sunshine, half -afraid, — 
How easy 't is to write a rhyme ! 

When invitations are a-wing 

For gay Terpsichore's parade ; 
When dreamy waltzes stir the string 

And jewels flash on rich brocade, 

Where Paris dresses are displayed, 
And slippered feet keep careful time : — 

In winter, when the roses fade, 
How easy 't is to write a rhyme ! 
[73l 



MADRIGALS AND CATCHES 

When by your side, with graceful swing, 
Some fair-faced, gentle girl has strayed, 

Willing and glad to have you bring 

Your claims for love and get them paid 
In kisses, smiles, and words that aid 

The bells of bliss to better chime ; — 
When Cupid's rules are first obeyed, 

How easy 't is to write a rhyme ! 

Envoy 

Reader, forgive me, man or maid, 

Against Calliope this crime ; 
And let this brief ballade persuade 

How easy 't is to write a rhyme ! 

TO AUSTIN DOBSON 

FROM the sunny climes of France, 
Flying to the west, 
Came a flock of birds by chance, 

There to sing and rest : 
Of some secrets deep in quest, — 

Justice for their wrongs, — 
Seeking one to shield their breast, 
One to write their songs. 

Melodies of old romance, 

Joy and gentle jest, 
Notes that made the dull heart dance 

With a merry zest ; — 
[74] 



TO AUSTIN DOBSON 

Maids in matchless beauty drest, 
Youths in happy throngs ; — 

These they sang to tempt and test 
One to write their songs. 

In old London's wide expanse 

Built each feathered guest, — 
Man's small pleasure to enhance, 

Singing him to rest, — 
Came, and tenderly confessed, 

Perched on leafy prongs, 
Life were sweet if they possessed 

One to write their songs. 

Envoy 

Austin, it was you they blest : 

Fame to you belongs ! 
Time has proven you 're the best 

One to write their songs. 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

FANCY 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

TO FANCY 

FROM what mystery of space 
Come you, miracle of grace 1 
Lighting up the realm of dream 
With a transitory gleam ? 
Phantom of the poet's brain ! 
From what shadowy domain 
Come you secretly, unsought, 
Making music of his thought, 
Bringing him the gift of rhyme 
At an unexpected time ? 
Is there any magic lure 
That will win you quick and sure ? 
Is there any fetter strong 
That will hold you, soul of song? 
Tell me, Fancy, so that I 
May not let you slip me by ! 

THE HARBOR OF DREAMS 

ONLY a whispering gale 
Flutters the wings of the boat ; 
Only a bird in the vale 

Lends to the silence a note 
Mellow, subdued, and remote : 

[79] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

This is the twilight of peace, 
This is the hour of release, 
Free of all worry and fret, 
Clean of all care and regret, 
When, like a bird in its nest, 
Fancy lies folded to rest. 

This is the margin of sleep ; 

Here let the anchor be cast ; 
Here in forgetfulness deep, 
Now that the journey is past, 
Lower the sails from the mast. 
Here is the bay of content, 
Heaven and earth interblent ; 
Here is the heaven that lies 
Close to the gates of surprise ; 
Here all like Paradise seems, — 
Here is the harbor of dreams. 



BREATH OF SONG 

FROM the minster's organ-loft, 
Floating down the shadowed nave, 
Comes a strain of music soft, 
Falling as a weary wave 

Falls upon the beach of sand, 
Murmurous and sweet and bland, 
Bearing from the mighty sea 
Messages of melody. 
[80]/ 



BREATH OF SONG 

There, alone, the organist, 

Lets his listless fingers go — 
Lost in a melodious mist — 
O'er the keyboard, to and fro : 

There, half -dreaming, in the gloom, 
Sits the weaver at his loom, 
Weaving with the threads of sound 
Music-woof the warp around. 

All unconsciously he hides 

Strains familiar in his theme, 
When a master-spirit glides 

Through the doorway of his dream ; 
Mozart, Handel, Chopin, or 
Harmony's great conjuror — 
Rapt Beethoven ! — each is part 
Of the dreaming player's heart. 

So the Poet dreams, nor heeds 

Who may listen, who may hear ; 
Following where Fancy leads, 
She alone to him is dear : 
Omar, Keats, Theocritus, 
In his voice may speak to us 
From the realm of ages dim — 
These are in the heart of him ! 

Poets in the fields of Time, 

Since the world began, have sown 

Wide the precious seeds of rhyme, 
And to us to-day are blown 
[81 ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Odors from these poem-flowers — 
Seedlings of the later hours — 
Blossoming the fields along, 
Breathing the sweet breath of song. 

OMAR KHAYYAM 

AT Naishapur his ashes lie 
jLjL O'ershadowed by the mosque's blue dome ; 
There folded in his tent of sky 

The star of Persia sleeps at home. 

The Rose her buried Nightingale 
Remembers, faithful all these years ; 

Around his grave the winds exhale 
The fragrant sorrow of her tears. 

Sultans and slaves in caravans 

Since Malik Shah have gone their way, 

And ridges in the Kubberstans 
Are their memorials to-day. 

But from the dust in Omar's tomb 

A Fakir has revived a Rose, 
Perchance the old, ancestral bloom 

Of that one by the mosque which blows; 

And from its petals he has caught 

The inspiration Omar knew, 
Who from the stars his wisdom brought, — 

A Persian Rose that drank the dew. 
[82] 



REVERY 

The Fakir now in dust lies low 
With Omar of the Orient ; 

Fitzgerald, shall we call him ? No : 
'T was Omar in the Occident ! 



REVERY 

c, s. 

GIVE me my happy poet's book 
And let me find a sylvan nook, 
Far from the noisy world apart, 
And near enough to Nature's heart 
To hear it throb and feel it thrill, 
Yet wonder why 't is all so still. 

There, thick with leaves, the branches spread 

Their canopy of green o'erhead, 

Through which in sudden wind-torn rifts 

The sun its dusty copper sifts ; 

And there a dreamy brook runs by, — 

A slender strip of twilight sky, 

Starred with its ripples, and its moon 

A lily lying in a swoon 

Upon its bosom, wan and white 

As that pale wanderer of night. 

Birds in the arching boughs above 
Fluting their melodies of love ; 
t8 3 ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Bees in the distance humming where 
The blossom's honey scents the air ; 
And, where the wild-flowers cluster, hosts 
Of Psyches hovering like ghosts 
Around the fragrant, curtained glooms, 
Clouding the air with winged blooms. 

There with my book, a flagon fiHed 

With wine of song the poet spilled 

From cups of love's sweet overflow 

In happy riot, long ago, — 

With Herrick, from whose well-tuned lute 

First grew the lyric bud and fruit, — 

There, in the shifting sun and shade, 

In fancy, I shall see that maid 

To whom his songs, — each one of them 

Clean cut and finished as a gem, — 

He sang, until her every grace 

Found in his limped verse a place, 

That she with him might live as long 

As man is moved by love and song ! 

Oh, that we, too, who touch the string 
To-day and set it quivering, 
Whose hearts have caught one little spark 
Of rhyme in this prosaic dark, ' 
Unto our verses might but give 
That subtile touch to make them live, 
Like Herrick' s, after we are gone ! 
That all our lines might linger on 
[84] 



ISRAFEL 

The lips of those who later shall 
Love lyric brief and madrigal ; 
And immortality for us 
In melody be vouchsafed thus ! 

AT MIDNIGHT 

SEE, yonder, the belfry tower 
That gleams in the moon's pale light ; 
Or is it a ghostly flower 

That dreams in the silent night ? 

I listen and hear the chime 

Go quavering o'er the town, 
And out of this flower of Time 

Twelve petals are wafted down. 

ISRAFEL 

FROM Paradise what soul with wings 
In yonder green spray hides and sings, 
Weaving within the fragrant gloom 
Song-fabrics on the morning's loom ? 

'T is Israfel returned to us, 
Making the world melodious : 
He, he it is who sows the air, 
With seeds of music everywhere, 
Until the charmed space around 
Grows sweet with blossomings of sound. 
[85] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

In ecstasy the fields lie mute, 

Spelled by the magic of his lute ; 

The trees are hushed the while to hear 

The cadence falling liquid-clear ; 

The winds hold in their breath, lest they 

Cheat of one dulcet note the day ; 

And through the meadow, lisping low, 

The naiads silver-sandaled go, 

Or drowsy grown beside the streams, 

Lie drinking music's wine of dreams; 

And I, enraptured, in the dell 

Pause, listening to Israfel : 

Oblivious of all beside, 

Dreaming, I drift upon the tide 

Of melody until my eyes 

Picture him there in Paradise, — 

When lo, there comes a sudden hush; 

T is earth, — and yonder soars a thrush ! 



BACKLOG DREAMS 

ABOVE the glowing embers 
L I hear the backlog sing 
The music it remembers 

Of some remembered Spring; 
Back to the branch forsaken 
Return its jocund choir 
And in the chimney waken 
A melody of fire. 
[86] 



BACKLOG DREAMS 

The sparks' red blossoms glisten 

And flash their glances brief 
At me who lean and listen 

And dream I hear the leaf, 
On some May morning sunny, 

Low lisping in the tree, — 
Or, in his haunt of honey, 

A bloom-enamored bee : 

Or 't is the soft wind blowing 

Its sweetness from the South, 
A fragrant kiss bestowing 

Upon the rose's mouth; 
And ere the spell is broken, 

Or darkness o'er it slips, 
I see the scarlet token 

Of love upon her lips. 

Without, the storm is bitter, 

The snowflakes fill the night; 
Within, the embers glitter 

And gild the room with light; 
And in the fire-place gleaming 

The backlog sings away, 
And mingles all my dreaming 

With birds and blooms and May. 



[87] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 



SORCERY 



AROSE on a spray where a brown bird sang, 
Looked down, with a blush on her lovely face, 
And saw, lying coiled in the fragrant place, 
A green little snake with a forked fang. 

Then swift from her cheek fled the crimson blush ; 

No longer she dreamed of the bird's sweet song ; 

But trembled with fear, lest the poisoned prong 
Should strike and the lyric forever hush. 

And lo, when the serpent had slipped away, 
And vanished the bird in the blue above, 
Two maids in the morning of new-found love 

Bent over the bloom on the slender spray ! 

And one in her heart felt a strange delight, — 
A thought of the bird made the rose blush red ! 
And one in her heart felt a sudden dread, — 

A thought of the snake made the rose blanch white ! 



MOTHS 

GHOSTS of departed winged things, 
What memories are those 
That tempt you with your damask wings 
Here where my candle glows ? 
[88] 



ON A GREEK VASE 

Vainly you hover, circling oft 

The tongue of yellow flame : 
A tiger by caresses soft 

You vainly seek to tame. 

Here is no hope for you : nay, here 

Death lurks within the light, 
To leap upon you flying near 

And sweep you from the night ! 

Moon-butterflies, back to your blooms 

Born of the dew and stars ! 
Hence, ghosts, and find again your glooms 

Hidden by shadow-bars ! 

Quick, — speed across the dusky blue, 

Lest, in a sudden breath, 
This tawny tiger wake, and you 

Endure a second death ! 



ON A GREEK VASE 

DIVINELY shapen cup, thy lip 
Unto me seemeth thus to speak 
" Behold in me the workmanship 

The grace and cunning of a Greek ! 

" Long ages since he mixed the clay, 
Whose sense of symmetry was such, 
The labor of a single day 

Immortal grew beneath his touch. 
[89 J 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

" For dreaming while his fingers went 
Around this slender neck of mine, 
The form of her he loved was blent 
With every matchless curve and line. 

" Her loveliness to me he gave 

Who gave unto herself his heart, 

That love and beauty from the grave 

Might rise and live again in art." 

And hearing from thy lips this tale 
Of love and skill, of art and grace, 

Thou seem'st to me no more the frail 
Memento of an older race ; 

But in thy form divinely wrought 
And figured o'er with fret and scroll, 

I dream, by happy chance was caught, 
And dwelleth now that maiden's soul. 



MOODS 

UPON a mountain-summit high, 
A trysting place of earth and sky, 
Three friends once stood in silent awe, 
Each contemplating what he saw. 

One gazing on the landscape found 
In changing features only sound : 
To him it was a memory 
Of some majestic symphony. 
[90 J 



FULFILMENT 

Another in the vastness caught, 
The essence of a poet's thought, 
The measures of a noble rhyme 
Enduring as eternal time. 

The third, — a stranger to those arts 
That moved and thrilled his comrades' hearts, 
Remembered with a nameless dread 
The face of one whom he saw dead. 



FULFILMENT 

IN the hush of the night he heard 
A voice, and his heart said, " Hark ! 
And the song of a distant bird 
Went quavering through the dark. 

Like a lost little child it sobbed 

As far as the purple hill, 
And the valley with music throbbed 

A moment, then all was still. 

Then the heart in his bosom cried, 

"Alas, 'tis a grievous wrong 
That the multitude be denied 
• The sweetness of such a song : 

11 'T were a poet's divines t art 

The words of that song to write ! " 
So he wrote for the eager heart 
The song of the bird at night. 
[9i ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

And it went like the night-bird's voice 

Out into a world of gloom ; 
And his heart had its dearest choice, 
And slept in a poet's tomb ! 



w 



MNEMOSYNE'S MIRROR 

HEN Summer comes and brings the rose, 
My glass the winter's landscape shows : 
The spectral wood and shrouded field, 
The garden's lips in silence sealed, 
The north-wind's icy bitter breath 
As 't were the stirrup-cup of death ; 
The pulseless brook, the absent song, 
The sunlight brief and shadows long. 



But comes December's day, and then 
My mirror shows me June again : 
The garden's million lips of bloom 
Speaking their language of perfume ; 
The lyric quavers of the thrush 
Shot, arrow like, across the hush ; 
The laughing brook, the lisping leaf, 
The sunlight long and shadows brief. 

Grant me, Mnemosyne, when old, 
This magic mirror still to hold, 
Transforming Time in such a way 
That I shall see Youth's yesterday 
[92] 



ATTAINMENT 

Reflected there, and view once more 
My boat upon Life's morning shore : 
What else — I heed not — take from me ; 
Leave but this glass of memory ! 

TIME'S SONG 

THE days come, 
And the days go ! 
The bees hum 

Where the roses blow : 
The days go, 

And the leaves burn : 
The birds know, 

And to home return. 

The days come, 

And the days go ! 
And all dumb 

Lies the world in snow: 
The days go, 

And the year's rhyme 
Is made so 

By the poet, Time I 

ATTAINMENT 

FROM the marble of his thought 
Are the poet's fancies wrought 
Into forms of symmetry, 
Into rhyme and melody : 
[93] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Not by any magic feat 

Comes the statue forth complete ; 

Only patient labor, long, 

Can create the perfect song ; 

Only love that does not tire 

Can attain its high desire, — 

Love that deems no gift of time 

Wasted, so it win the rhyme 

One elusive word to start 

Life within the lyric's heart. 

Still the Parthenon for us — 

Jewel of Pentelicus 

Fashioned centuries ago — 

Shines with undiminished glow; 

Still the resurrected bust, 

Buried ages in the dust, 

Holds to-day its honored place 

By the marvel of its grace; 

So the poet's song shall shine 

For the jewel of one line ; 

So his lyric shall endure 

Be the carven marble pure. 

Toil he must if he would win 

Heaven's gate and enter in ; 

Labor of a life-time give 

That the sculptured verse shall live ! 



[94] 



PERPETUITY 



ALLAH'S HOUSE 



N 



ANAC, the faithful, pausing once to pray, 
From holy Mecca turned his face away. 



A Moslem priest, who chanced to see him there 
Forgetful of the attitude in prayer, 

Cried, " Infidel, how durst thou turn thy feet 
Toward Allah's house — the sacred temple's seat ? " 

To whom the pious Nanac thus replied : 
" Know'st thou God's house is, as the world is, wide ? 

" Thou, turn them if thou canst toward any spot 
Where mighty Allah's awful house is not ? " 



PERPETUITY 

1 HEARD a sweet voice singing in the night 
A tender love-song written years ago, 
To ease a poet's heart of that deep woe 
Born of long absence from its dear delight ; 
And as the music like a bird took flight 

Across the shadowed world and vanished so, 
I thought of him who wrote it, — did he know 
How Time would keep his jewel-lyric bright ? 

[95] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

O Poet of to-day, whose heart would sing 

Some simple song of love, and sweet words give 
To mate the melody that thrills the lute, — 
Sing on, nor heed what lips are murmuring 
To scorn your art : one perfect song shall live 
For love and you long after they are mute ! 



A HOLLYHOCK 

QUATRAINS 

SUNRISE 

BLOOMS in the east when darkness goes 
A radiant, cloud-petal rose, 
Out of whose iridescent heart 
The yellow bees of sunlight dart. 



MOONRISE 

WITHIN this silent palace of the Night, 
See how the moon, like some huge phantom 
moth, 
Creeps slowly up across the azure cloth 
That hangs between the darkness and the light ! 



A HOLLYHOCK 

SERAGLIO of the Sultan Bee ! 
I listen at the waxen door, 
And hear the zithern's melody 

And sound of dancing on the floor. 



[97] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 



WINTER'S BEGGAR 



WHERE heedless winds around him blow, 
The Tree, a tattered beggar, stands, 
And reaches out his empty hands 
To catch the silver of the snow. 



CONTRAST 

IN her dark hair a lustrous jewel gleams, 
A single star upon the edge of night : 
Dazzling it is, and yet how dull it seems 

Beside her face, — drowned in the morning's light. 



SUN AND MOON 

BY day in Allah's azure urn 
The sun, a fire, is made to burn : 
And from its ashes there by night 
The moon, a lily, blossoms white, j 



SURF MUSIC 

LYING beside the margin of the deep, 
I hear the music of mysterious streams 
Sung by the waves ; — like voices heard in dreams 
Moving along the shadowed shore of sleep. 

[ 98 ] 



LYRICS 



LYRICS 



IN Nature's open book 
An epic is the sea, 
A lyric is the brook : — 
Lyrics for me ! 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

LOVE 

AN OLD SONG 

OFTENTIMES there come to me 
Scraps of music-memory 
That have slept, alas, how long ! 
In the quiet night of song. 
I can mark the measured time, 
I can catch the notes that rhyme, 
Till it seems I almost hear 
Whispered words within my ear ; 
Yet, for all I listen so 
To them as they come and go, 
Shreds of only one refrain 
In my memory remain. 

Long ago the song was sung, 
Long ago, when I was young, 
And my heart in time would beat 
With the music soft and sweet. 
There was something that would start 
Glad emotions in my heart, 
Something in the words which made 
Joy grow bright and sorrow fade, 
Something in the notes of joy 
Giving courage to the boy 
Long ago, ere he began 
Dreaming of the present man. 
[ ioo ] 



THE LAST LETTER 

Never comes this strain but I 
Seem to feel her standing by. 
Oh, that all the notes might come 
Back from lips forever dumb, 
So that I might render whole 
This marred music of the soul! 
Oh, that I again might bring 
Back this song she used to sing ! 
I should sing it till my eyes, 
Through a rift in Paradise, 
Caught a vision of her face 
Smiling from her dwelling-place ; 
I should sing it line by line 
Till her lips should answer mine ; 
I should sing it o'er and o'er 
Till I seemed a boy once more, — 
Till my dream should bring in truth 
Her who sang it to my youth ! 



THE LAST LETTER 

LONG years within its sepulchre 
Of faintly scented cedar 
Has lain this letter dear to her 

Who was its constant reader : 

The postmark on the envelope 

Sufficed the date to give her, 

And told the birth of patient hope 

That managed to outlive her. 

[ ioi ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

How often to this treasure-box, 

Tears in her eyes' soft fringes, 
She came with key and turned the locks, 

And on its brazen hinges 
Swung back the quaintly figured lid, 

And raised a sandal cover, 
Disclosing, under trinkets hid, 

This message from her lover. 

Then lifting it as 't were a child, 

Her hand awhile caressed it 
Ere to the lips that sadly smiled 

Time and again she pressed it ; 
Then drew the small inclosure out 

And smoothed the wrinkled paper, 
Lest any line should leave a doubt 

Or any word escape her. 

Still held the olden charm its place 

Amid the tender phrases ; 
Time seemed unwilling to efface 

The love-pervaded praises : 
And though a thousand lovers might 

Have matched them all for passion, 
A poet were inspired to write 

In their unstudied fashion. 

From " Darling " slowly, word by word, 

She read the tear-stained treasure : 

[ 102 ] 



PEPITA 

The mists by which her eyes were blurred 
Grew out of pain and pleasure ; 

But when she reached that cherished name 
And saw the last leave-taking, 

The mist a storm of grief became, — 
Her very heart was breaking ! 

I put it back, — this old-time note, 

Which seems like sorrow's leaven, 
For she who read, and he who wrote, 

Please God, are now in heaven. 
If lovers of to-day could win 

Such love as won this letter, 
The world about us would begin 

To gladden and grow better. 

PEPITA 

UP in her balcony where 
Vines through the lattices run 
Spilling a scent on the air, 

Setting a screen to the sun, 
Fair as the morning is fair, 

Sweet as a blossom is sweet, 
Dwells in her rosy retreat 
Pepita. 

Often a glimpse of her face, 
When the wind rustles the vine 

Parting the leaves for a space, 
Gladdens this window of mine ; 
[ 103 ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Pink in its leafy embrace, 

Pink as the morning is pink, 
Sweet as a blossom I think 
Pepita. 

I who dwell over the way 

Watch where Pepita is hid, 
Safe from the glare of the day, 

Like an eye under its lid : 
Over and over I say — 

Name like the song of a bird, 
Melody shut in a word, — 
" Pepita." 

Look where the little leaves stir ! 

Look, the green curtains are drawn ! 
There in a blossomy blur 

Breaks a diminutive dawn — • 
Dawn and the pink face of her ! 
Name like a lisp of the south, 
Fit for a rose's small mouth, — 
Pepita ! 

HER SMILE HIS SUNLIGHT 

SWEETHEART, when rhymes I make 
For your dear sake, 
You bring 
Into your face a smile 
To cheer me while 
I sing 

[ 104 ] 



HER SMILE HIS SUNLIGHT 

Like to that bird am I, 
Which, when the sky 
At night 
A deeper azure grows, 
No longer knows 
Delight ; 

Or like of flowers that one 
Which loves the sun, 
And gives 
The beauty of its bloom 
To him for whom 
It lives. 

Pleasure nor joy to bless 
Have I unless 
Your face 
Over my paper shines 
And lights the lines 
With grace. 

For me your smile is day — 
The golden ray 
That climbs 
Imagination's wall 

And sweetens all 
My rhymes. 

For you the bird's song, this ; 
The flower's fresh kiss 
And breath ; 
[105] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Nor may their nightfall come 

Till both are dumb 

In death ! 



TO A ROSE 

GO, Rose, and in her golden hair 
You shall forget the garden soon ; 
The sunshine is a captive there 

And crowns her with a constant noon. 



And when your spicy odor goes, 

And fades the beauty of your bloom, 

Think what a lovely hand, O Rose, 
Shall place your body in the tomb ! 



UNDER HER BALCONY 

UP, slender vine, your love is mine ; 
I watch you as you go, 
A lyric budding line on line 

With blossom rhymes a-row I 
Up, up, until her window-sill, 

Like Heaven's gate in sight, 
Makes all your heart with hope to fill 
And bloom with its delight ! 
[ 106] 



AD ASTRA 

And when her eyes' soft twilight lies 

Upon you nestled there, 
When all about you is surprise, 

And all below, despair, 
Then to my Sweet, my love repeat ; 

Yield her one perfect bloom, 
Which, though it perish at her feet, 

May, ghostlike, haunt her room. 

But if her mind and heart be kind, 

And grant you gracious rest, 
And for this gift a pillow find, 

And fold it to her breast, — 
Up, up ! I burn my fate to learn 

From her who waits above ; 
Let but a leaf to earth return, — 

Her answer and her love ! 



AD ASTRA 

BLOSSOM, little stars, and fill 
The garden of the sky ; 
Drops of wine that you distil 
Upon the grasses lie. 

Every thirsty blade holds up 

A blessing to the blue, 
Every thirsty flower its cup 

Fills with the heaven's dew. 
I 107] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Blossom, little stars of love, 
In my beloved's heart ; 

Blossom like the stars above, 
And into gladness start. 

Far beneath you there is one 
Who dares a cup to raise : 

He has thirsted in the sun 
These many dreary days. 

Blossom, *blossom soon, and bring 
Love's gladness and the wine 

To revive the hopes that spring 
Up in this heart of mine. 



CONTENTMENT 

A GIRL to love, a pipe to smoke, 
Enough to eat and drink ; 
A friend with whom to crack a joke, 

And one to make me think ; 
A book or two of simple prose, 
A thousand more of rhyme : 
No matter then how fast Time goes, 
I take no heed of Time ! 

The little wife inspires my thought 

With serious intent ; 
She cheers me with her wisdom fraught 

With love and sentiment : 
[ 108 1 



HELIOTROPE 

Or prose to read, or rhyme to sing, 
She makes them each sublime : 

No matter then how Time takes wing, 
I take no heed of Time ! 

God grant me that when grown so old 

Nor pipe nor glass I crave, 
The little wife and books may hold 

My heart unto the grave : 
There let me sleep in peace below 

The turf, where ivies climb : 
No matter then how Time shall go, 

I take no heed of Time 1 



HELIOTROPE 

GO, Heliotrope, 
Unto my Sweet and tell 
How, like a harbinger of hope, 
You come to dwell 

Near her, and pray to rest 
Upon her breast. 

Tell her for me 

In whispers of perfume, 
How like the golden sun is she, 
To which your bloom 
Forever turns its face 
Beseeching grace. 
[ 109 ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Say, even so 

The blossom of my love . 
Looks from its land of doubt below 
To her above, 

Waiting one word to slip 
Her scarlet lip. 

Then if you feel 

Her heart with joy beat fast, 
Or if with one sweet kiss she seal 
Your lips at last, 

And leave you stricken dumb 
Until I come : 

Seeing you there 

Upon her bosom, I 
Shall know what answer to my prayer 
She makes, and lie 

Beside you dumb with bliss, 
Sealed by her kiss. 



VALENTINES 



LOVE, at your door young Cupid stands 
And knocks for you to come : 
The frost is in his feet and hands, 
His lips with cold are numb, 
[no] 



VALENTINES 

Grant him admittance, sweetheart mine, 

And by your cheering fire 
His lips shall loosen as with wine 

And speak forth my desire. 

He left me not an hour ago, 

And when the rascal went 
Barefooted out into the snow, 

I asked him whither bent. 
Quoth he : " To her whose face is like 

A garden full of flowers : 
To her whose smiles like sunlight strike 

Across the winter hours." 

No more he said, nor need of more 

Had I to know. I knew 
His path lay straight unto your door : 

That face belongs to you ! 
" God-speed," I cried, " and give her this, 

When you her face shall see;" 
And on his lips I set a kiss, 

A valentine from me ! 

ii 

I care not that the snow lies deep 

Upon the world about : 
The hidden flowers, they lie asleep 

And dream, and never doubt 
But Spring shall come again and set 

The rubies on the vine : 
[ in 1 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

The faithful Year shall not forget 
Her valentine. 

I care not that a thousand miles 

Keep me and mine apart, 
For when upon this page she smiles 

And gladdens in her heart, 
Like Spring, the sun returns to me 

And cheers these eyes of mine : 
My sweetheart promises to be 

My valentine. 

Be still, my heart, and like the flowers 

Asleep beneath the snow, 
Dream on, and soon the sunny hours 

Shall wake you dreaming so : 
And when the Summer's stars above 

Drip with their dewy wine, 
The flowers shall come, and with them, love, 

And valentine ! 



ON A CLOCK 

LONELY once, my love away, 
To this slave of Time I cried : 
" Faster on your journey glide, 
Let your feet no second stay ; 
Speed the dreary night and day ! " 
He, all heedless, obstinate, 
Never quickened in his gait. 
[ 112] 



TO WINTER 

Happy once, my love in sight, 
To this slave of Time I prayed ; 
"Be your journey slowly made, 

Loiter with me in delight ; 

Stay the happy day and night ! " 
Obstinate, he heard at last, — 
Heard, and hurried twice as fast. 



TO WINTER 

GOOD Winter, hear this wish I write 
Before the red leaves blow 
Across the sky 
To droop and die, 
And sleep beneath the snow ; 
Before the birds have taken flight 
Unto a gentler clime, 
And for my thought 
Have left me naught 
Of melody or rhyme. 

The purple clusters in the leaves 
Of grapes already ripe ; 
The chestnut burrs 
Half burst ; the slurs 
Upon the robin's pipe ; 
The shrill wind whistling round the eaves ; 
The dawn's white gossamer — 
I ii3l 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

All these awake 
The wish I make, 
Good Winter, just for her. 

My Love, a blossom fair is she ; 
Lithe as a lily stem : 

Her voice and words 

So like the birds' 
Will make you think of them. 
Good Winter, keep her safe for me, 
Leave to her face its smile, 

And to her heart 

Of love that part 
Which makes my wish worth while ! 

HIS STARLIGHT 

YOU who at my elbow sit, 
By whose eyes my lines are lit, 
How shall any poet's pen 
Go amiss or falter when 
Stars like these shine out above — 
Beacons kindled there by Love — 
Lighting up the paths below 
Where he wanders to and fro. 

Is it strange the rhymes should kiss 
Under such a spell as this ? 
They but mimic those, my Sweet, 
Who of old were wont to meet, 
[ 114] 



UNSPOKEN 

Meet and linger at the bars, 
Making love beneath the stars : 
We ourselves were happy rhymes 
In those dear, betrothal times. 

Take this lyric : every line 
But reflects the stars that shine 
O'er my shoulder, telling me 
Of my sweetheart's constancy ! 
And if any word appear 
Vague or needless, say you : Here 
Went a cloud across his skies ; 
This is where its shadow lies. 

But should any turn of phrase 
Win your lips to speak its praise, 
Know you then the happy thought 
From your eyes the poet caught : 
All the graces of his song 
To those constant stars belong, — 
To those tender eyes that brim 
Full with love to gladden him. 



UNSPOKEN 

LOVE, when we parted, you and I, 
Who had been friends so many years, 
How many times a last good-by 
Rose to the surface of my tears ! 
[ H5 ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

There never once to it you cast 
A strand of hope its life to save, 

But watched it to the very last, 
And saw it sink into its grave. 

And now to you, away so far, 
The winging of that spirit-word 

As futile seems as to a star 

The flight of some enamored bird ! 



SONG 

SONG like a rose should be ; 
Each rhyme a petal sweet ; 
For fragrance, melody, 
That when her lips repeat 

The words her heart may know 
What secret makes them so : — 
Love, only Love ! 

Go, then, my song, — a rose 

Fashioned of love and rhyme ; 
Unto her heart disclose 
That secret old as time, — 
Old, yet forever new ! 
Go, then, and tell her true : — 
Love, only Love! 



[ n6] 



THE NUN'S ROSE 

THE NUN'S ROSE 

OVER the convent wall 
Clambers a rose- vine sweet, 
Letting its fragrant blossoms fall 
Into the dusty street. 

Hither the weary guest, 

Drawn by the fresh perfume, 

Pauses to dream awhile and rest 
Under the spray of bloom : 

Lingers to dream of those 
Who, in their quiet hours, 

Dwelling within the garden-close, 
Wander among the flowers. 

What of their holy deeds 
Ponders the dreamer there ? 

Is it the rosaries of beads 
Counted in silent prayer ? 

Is it the chants they sing? 

Is it the fast they keep ? 
Is it the words of comforting 

Spoken to those who weep ? 

Nay, 't is of her whose love 
Moved her to train this vine 

Over the convent wall above, 
Breathing a scent like wine. 
[ 117] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Tokens these blossoms seem 

Speaking of her pure life : 
Petals that fall like dream on dream 

Into a world of strife. 

MEMORIES 

LONG time she sat, yet never touched a string, - 
Her thoughts were all of one far, far away, 
One dearly loved, whose face to her could bring 
Desire to play. 

The tune — ah, well she knew it ! — and the words 

So full of tenderness, unsung so long, 
Hung on her parted lips — a flock of birds 
Without a song. 

Anon, the music to her finger-tips 

In swift pulsations from her glad heart went, 
Then quavered to the song upon her lips 
The instrument. 

For suddenly across the strings she swept 

Her slender hand, and lo, there came at last 
The melody which had in silence slept 
The whole year past ! 

Faintly at first, with every touch it grew 

More sweet, and filled the charmed air around, 
And sang within her ears until she knew 
'T was joy she found. 
[ n8] 



DIRGE 

And there, alone, she held the graceful form 

And sang to it as 't were a babe at rest, 
Singing itself to sleep, and growing warm 
Against her breast. 

So, happy in the melody she wrought 
Upon the old guitar in her embrace, 
Her eyes grew heavy, closed, and slumber brought 
Dreams of his face. 



DIRGE 

LET a song be softly sung ; 
Let a prayer be said ; 
Let a solemn bell be rung ; — 
Love is dead ! 

With the early buds he came 
When the snows were fled ; 
Lightly lisped the leaves his name 
Overhead : 

Sang the birds a sweeter strain ; 

Troops of roses red 
Followed in a laughing train 
Where he led : 

Brighter beamed the stars above, 

And the soft gales sped 
Whispering the secret : Love 
Soon shall wed ! 
I ii9l 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Rang the bells in merry chime 

When the promise spread : 
Poets strung with beads of rhyme 
Fancy's thread. 

Fragrant petals lightly fell 

Where his feet might tread : 
Blossoms that he loved so well 
Were his bed. 

There he slumbers, pale and cold : 

Let a tear be shed ; 
Let a solemn bell be tolled ; — 
Love is dead I 



NOCTURNE 

LOVE, throw thy lattice open to the night, 
And shame the moon, that doth so sadly shine 
Upon the world, with that glad face of thine ! 
Look down upon me with thine eyes more bright 
Than those of angels from yon dizzy height 
Of heaven peering out ; and be it mine 
To feel uplifted to thee, like a vine 
Led up the trellis ladder by the light ! 

Then, while the earth in purple shadows deep 

Lies hushed, and, dreaming, slumber all the birds, 
And not a whisper wakes the leaves above, — 
[ 120 ] 



REMEMBRANCE 

Listen, and thou shalt hear the lute-strings weep 
In music soft, mourning to win thy words 
To make complete their melody of love ! 



D 



REMEMBRANCE 

AY to my heart 
With you comes always fair 
When you depart 
'T is twilight there. 



Then love unbars 
The door of dreams for me, 
And lights the stars 
Of memory. 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 



NATURE 

A GREETING FOR SPRING 

LET us go forth and meet her 
As she comes through the eastern gates ; 
Let us away to greet her 

Whom the lover-like land awaits 
In a rapturous mood to bless, 
All impatient for her caress ; 
Let us mount up the purple slopes 
That are murmurous with their hopes ; 
And the winds speeding on before 

In their haste to be first shall sing 
Of the earth's wide floor, 
That is dotted o'er 

With the emerald steps of Spring. 

Moses upon the mountains 

Strikes his rod on the marble snow, 

Freeing the crystal fountains ; 

And the streams through the plains below 

Are her couriers swift, who run 

In the glow of the golden sun 

Through the fields on their twinkling feet, 

With the gladdening promise sweet, — 

She is coming with laughing eyes 
[ 122 ] 



A GREETING FOR SPRING 

From the Orient's sun- wrapped land, 
From the land that lies 
Under tranquil skies 

Like an opal in Allah's hand. 

Up at the dawn's first waking 

From her dreams in the night's long gloom ! 
Up when the east is breaking 

Like a rose into scarlet bloom ! 
When the buds in the branches shine, 
And the blood of the slender vine 
From the tip of each tiny stem 
Oozes out and becomes a gem, 
Till the world like a queen is drest 

For a carnival glad and gay, 
And awaits her guest 
In the curtained west 

At the odorous doors of day. 

Hark ! on the breeze a rally 

And a rustle of wings is heard ! 
Over the misty valley 

Soars a heavenly singing bird, 
Like a sapphire that burns with song; 
And it drops to the earth erelong, 
Where it kindles a mighty choir 
Into flames of lyric fire ; 
And the jewel that falls to earth 

In the silvery sod is set, 
And it marks the birth 
[ 123] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Out of winter's dearth 
Of a delicate violet. 

Let us go forth and linger 

At the gates with the sunrise bars ; 
Watch for her rosy finger 

As she slips off its ring of stars, 
And her radiant face which gleams 
With the joy of the year's sweet dreams, 
And her eyes like the morning dews, 
And her cheeks with the wild-flower hues 
Let us watch till the east grows bright 

With her glorious robe that falls 
Like a wave of light 
On the shore of night, 

And the bird to the valley calls. 

Oh, for the fragrant presage 

Of the goddess divinely fair ! 
Oh, for the flute-like message, 

Making melody float mid-air ! 
For the flash of the blue-bird's wings ! 
For the gush of the woodland springs ! 
For the buds in the vine-clad bowers, 
And the breath of the gentle flowers ! 
We shall know them at morning, when 

All the shadows of night are furled ; 
We shall know them then, — 
It is Spring again, 

And her smile is upon the world ! 
[ 124] 



NOONTIDE 



NOONTIDE 

NO leaf is stirring in the tree, 
The drowsy bird forgets his tune ; 
The flower, forsaken by the bee, 
Hangs silent in the glaring noon. 

Hushed is the murmur of the stream 
Whose music made the morning sweet, 

And on its tranquil bosom dream 
The languid lilies in the heat. 

And in these cradles gently rocked 
When idle eddies catch the stems, 

Their gauzy wings in slumber locked, 
Repose the dragon-flies like gems. 

This is the golden hour of rest, 

When, half his circling journey done, 

Midway between the east and west 
The zenith holds the eager sun. 

And not until his fetters break 

And fall in shadows on the ground, 

Shall any slumberers awake, 

Or Nature know a breath or sound. 



[ 125] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 



THE SKY-SHIP 

IN the soft wind that blows, 
Yon cloud-ship of the sky 
Spreads a white sail and throws 
A shadow where I lie. 

And with my dream is blent 
A breath of spice and gums 

Out of the Orient 

Betraying whence she comes. 

Unto a land remote 
To fill its rich bazaars 

Sails this Arabian boat 
Amid the island stars. 

And in yon harbor calm 
Of Heaven's ocean blue, 

Empties her freight of balm, 
The twilight's fragrant dew ! 



A WOODLAND SPRING 

BENEATH the trees whose lisping brood 
With every breath of summer wake, 
And in the grove's green solitude 
Soft music make, 

[ 126] 



A WOODLAND SPRING 

A sylvan deity her pool 

Of crystal water deep has hid, 
Perpetually fresh and cool, 

The rocks amid. 



Gray, like a carpet, lies the moss, 

To shield from ragged stones her feet ; 

And for a roof the branches cross 
Above and meet. 

Birds in these rafters build and mate, 
And rear their lyric-hearted throng, 

And teach them well to imitate 
Her happy song. 

Hither came I upon a time 

To rest me in the tranquil shade, 

Led by a brook whose limpid rhyme 
Its source betrayed. 

I watched these minstrels, pair by pair, 
Come to the fountain's pebbly brink 

And, pausing first as if in prayer, 
Dip down and drink. 

They seemed to know the goddess who 
Presided o'er this woodland spring; 

And I, who longed to know her too, 
Bade them to sing. 
[ 127 ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Then, as they sang, awhile I knelt 
In worship at her sylvan shrine ; 

And even as I prayed I felt 
Her lips touch mine ! 



THE NAIAD'S CUP 

THIS is a naiad's drinking cup 
The water's tireless arm held up ; 
In it no drops of wine remain, 
Its chaste lip wears no crimson stain. 

No footprint by the water's edge 
Betrays to whom she drank the pledge ; 
Only this empty cup whose lip 
Speaks naught of its companionship. 

Who knows but for this chalice white 
A star was stolen from the night, 
From whose clear jewel-grape was drawn 
The dew of some Parnassian dawn ; 

And as the precious wine distilled, 
One drop into the water spilled, 
Pervading all the purple deep 
Wherein this naiad lay asleep ! 

Such potency that flavor knew, 
Her dream told where this lily grew ; 
One taste, and she awoke, and then 
Her eyes saw Arcady again ! 
[ 128 ] 



ETERNITY LANE 

The East was reddening ; the West 
Was shepherding the stars to rest ; 
But ere Apollo's reign began 
She pledged this loving cup with Pan ! 

ETERNITY LANE 

THE fence on either side is down, 
Or buried under vines and bushes, 
Save where, determined not to drown, 
A picket through the tangle pushes. 

On its gray peak the birds alight 

And trill their carols brief and tender ; 

All day a beacon, golden bright, 
It shines in solitary splendor. 

But through the creepers' leafy wall 
No gleam of sunlight ever passes 

To break the night that shadows all 

The cobwebbed growth of groping grasses. 

The rain that rattles on the leaves 
Outside with such a happy laughter, 

Once captive in this prison, grieves 
For light and liberty long after. 

No traveler for years has set 

His foot upon the pathway hidden ; 

Nor through the weeds forever wet 
For years has any horseman ridden. 
[ 129 1 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

No rut remains of wagon-road ; 

The gateway has no gate to span it ; 
Only the bat and bulging toad 

Dare venture past the posts of granite. 

One dreams, so silent is the place 
With all its life and light departed, 

That Time has finished here the race, 
And now Eternity has started ! 



STORM 

THE sun sank red in the dull gray west 
Like a glowing coal in a bed of ashes ; 
The river writhed in a mad unrest 

As it felt the scourge of the wind's keen lashes ; 
No star outshone on the Night's dark breast 

Scarred with livid lines of the lightning's flashes ; 
And he came with a voice of thunder 
O'er the mountains that trembled under, 
And a sudden thrill 
Ran from hill to hill, 
And the valley was dumb with wonder. 

Then all night long on the tangled strings 
Of the tempest's lute did the wind awaken 

Discordant notes from their slumberings, 
And the forest cried like a soul forsaken. 

The storm-bird fluttered his dismal wings 

And the rain-wrapt land like a leaf was shaken ! 
[ 130 1 



IN THE CLOVER 

And he called in a voice of thunder 
O'er the mountains that rumbled under, 

And the hosts of flame 

From the heavens came, 
And the valley was filled with wonder. 

But, lo, dawn smiles, and the misty world 

Like a pearl is plucked from its ocean dreaming; 

The storm's dark pinions at last are furled 

In the fragrant hush of the sun's bright gleaming, 

And where the arrows of fire were hurled, 

Lo, the face of Heaven with gladness beaming ! 

God has silenced the voice of thunder 

O'er the mountains that echoed under, 
And the bird's sweet song 
In the air grows strong, 

And the valley is hushed with wonder ! 



IN THE CLOVER 

IN the pasture's clover deep 
There I love to lie and sleep, 
Over me the placid sky, 
Blue save where his golden eye 
Out of Heaven's window looks 
In the mirrors of the brooks, 
That Apollo may behold 
How like me he too grows old ; 
[ 131 1 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

All about me billows blown, 
Emerald as Ocean's own, 
By the drowsy dales that blow, 
Catching fragrance as they go. 

Crusoe of that clover isle, 
There I come to dream awhile, 
Far from worry, strife, or din, 
Shut my island home within. 
Deep-drawn breaths of winy air 
Are the nectar I drink there ; 
Hebe ne'er her draughts served up 
Brimming such a sapphire cup ! 
Thessaly ne'er grew a vine 
Yielding such a sparkling wine, 
Drinking which 't is mine to feel 
Blissful languor o'er me steal ! 

Give me then that clover bed 
With its blue roof overhead, 
There to lie and dream away 
All the tedious hours of day. 
Pan shall cheer me with his reed, 
Fauns shall dance across the mead, 
Daphnis tend his snowy herds, 
And Theocritus make words 
Mingle in soft melody 
In my slumber-Sicily 
Set the clover sea amid, 
As in olden days he did ! 
[ 132 1 



WINTER STARLIGHT 



WINTER STARLIGHT 

THE air is keen, the sky is clear ; 
The wind has gone in whispers down ; 
And, gleaming in the atmosphere, 
A jewel, lies the lighted town. 

The winter's mantle stretches white 
Upon the roofs and streets below ; 

All hushed the noises of the night 
Against the bosom of the snow. 

The Moon from her blue dwelling-place 
Smiles over all, so pale, so fair, 

It seems the Earth's wan, winter face 
Reflected in a mirror there. 

Far off the lonely trees uplift 

Their naked branches like the spars 

Of some deserted ship adrift 
Under a canopy of stars. 

It is the darkened world that rides 
The sea of space, forever drawn 

By secret winds and mighty tides 
Unto the harbor of the Dawn ! 



[ 133] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 



DAYBREAK 



UNTO his parching lips a cup 
Brimming with wine the hills hold up, 
Fresh with the breath of bud and bloom, 
Cooled in the caves of purple gloom. 
One long, deep draught he takes, and then 
Into his saddle leaps again, 
Scatters the gold coins left and right, 
And speeds beyond the gates of night : 
The Years are at his heels, — away ! 
The Sun still leads them by a day. 



ASPIRATION 

BOOKS 
ASPIRATION 

WTHIN the meadow of Time's book 
Let my song be the laughing brook 
That sings along its silver way 
As 't were a dryad gone astray, 
Seeking by music's balm to bless 
The hunger of its loneliness. 
Let all my lines like ripples run 
Forever mirroring the sun ; 
Gay as the light lisp of a leaf, 
Unmarred by any gust of grief ; 
Sweet as the soft south wind that blows 
Its tender love-song to the rose. 
So, later, if my rhymes be read 
By maid or youth, it may be said : 
No melancholy strain he knew ; 
His skies were always bright and blue. 
Life seemed for him to slip along 
As smoothly as his limpid song f 
Whicjt y in its grace and simple art t 
Echoes the gladness in his heart. 



[135] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 



THE FLY-LEAF TO THE READER 

FRIEND, stay your steps awhile before 
You pass within the open door ; 
Bethink you in what manner you 
Shall greet the host ; consider, too, 
How to a feast of all his best 
The author here invites his guest, 
To taste his meat and drink his wine, 
On every dish to freely dine. 
And, mind you, when you come to sit i 
Before the board whereon his wit 
And wisdom are all spread to make 
A meal for your mind's stomach's sake, 
To bear yourself with dignity 
And treat your host with courtesy. 

If any dish before you placed 
By any chance offend your taste, 
Or if the food seem wanting aught 
Of proper seasoning, say naught. 
Eat quietly, and when you go 
Forget not gratitude to show ; 
And, being gone, if you repent 
The precious time that you have spent, 
Or think that you have poorly fared 
Upon the food and drink prepared, 
Curse not this book — the wine and meat 
So kindly offered you to eat. 
[ 136 1 



THE LIBRARY 

The author, too, spare from your curse, 
And do not go from bad to worse ; 
You were his guest, this recollect, 
And treat him only with respect. 
Keep your opinions to yourself, 
And put the book back on the shelf. 
Think this : what one may eat, and die, 
Another's taste may satisfy. 



THE LIBRARY 

GIVE me the room whose every nook 
Is dedicated to a book : 
Two windows will suffice for air 
And grant the light admission there ; 
One looking to the south, and one 
To speed the red, departing sun. 
The eastern wall from frieze to plinth 
Shall be the Poet's labyrinth, 
Where one may find the lords of rhyme 
From Homer's down to Dobson's time : 
And at the northern side a space 
Shall show an open chimney-place, 
Set round with ancient tiles that tell 
Some legend old, and weave a spell 
About the firedog-guarded seat, 
Where, musing, one may taste the heat : 
Above, the mantel should not lack 
For curios and bric-a-brac, — 
[ 137] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Not much, but just enough to light 
The room up when the fire is bright. 
The volumes on this wall should be 
All prose and all philosophy, 
From Plato down to those who are 
The dim reflections of that star ; 
And these tomes all should serve to show 
How much we write — how little know; 
For since the problem first was set 
No one has ever solved it yet. 
Upon the shelves along the west 
The scientific books shall rest ; 
Beside them, History ; above, — 
Religion, — hope, and faith, and love: 
Lastly, the southern wall should hold 
The story-tellers, new and old ; 
Haroun al Raschid, who was truth 
And happiness to all my youth, 
Shall have the honored place of all 
That dwell upon the sunny wall ; 
And with him there shall stand a throng 
Of those who help mankind along 
More by their fascinating lies 
Than all the learning of the wise. 

Such be the library ; and take 

This motto of a Latin make 

To grace the door through which I pass : 

Hie habitat Felicitas ! 

[138] 



FORGOTTEN BOOKS 



FORGOTTEN BOOKS 

/^\P books I sing, but not of those 
V->/ Which any book-collector knows, — 
The priceless, rare editions, not, — 
But volumes which the World forgot 
And with them those who wrote, as well, 
Before they had a chance to sell : 
Ephemerals that find themselves 
With the Immortals on my shelves. 
I name no names, for if I should 
None would recall them now, nor could 
A word of mine bring any one 
Out of its long Oblivion. 
The ink on many fly-leaves still 
Looks quite as fresh as when the quill 
On each inscribed an author's name, 
And signed his title there to Fame 
Without one solitary fear 
About its being proven clear. 

One has its pages still uncut, 
Clean, kept ironically shut 
By him whose name therein is penned 
Above : From his devoted Friend. 
But not infrequently I come 
Across the imprint of a thumb, 
Or in the paragraphs I find 
A pleasing sentence underlined, 
[ 139 ] 



LYRICS FOR A LUTE 

Or neatly on the margin set 
A compliment in epithet : 
Each one of these, I 'm satisfied, 
Was read before its author died. 

And there is one among them all, 

Morocco-bound, gilt-edged, and small, 

Filled with the amatory rhymes 

Of ante-Tennysonian times, 

Stiff in their phraseology 

And rather rough in melody. 

'T is Dedicated unto Her 

By Her Unworthy Worshipper. 

And just below is written, " These 

Many and pleasing Melodies , 

Dear Wni. writ in 'p8 f 

& tmto Me did Dedicate." 

This one was read and read again, 

And annotated by her pen : 

And this fulfilled the Author's hopes, 

Repaid the toil of all his tropes, 

And had, at least his span of life, 

One constant reader in his wife. 



TO HIS BOOKS 

GO, little book with heart of rhyme, 
This is our last leave-taking time : 
For you the journey stretches long, 
With naught to cheer you save a song ; 
[ Ho ] 



TO HIS BOOKS 

For me, alas ! when you depart, 
A doubtful, desolated heart. 
I have but slender hope to give 
To gladden such a fugitive. 
The world may greet you well or ill, 
Seeing your way lies all up hill : 
But o'er that summit dim and far 
I catch a glimpse of one sure star 
Which shines to guide you and to bring 
You ever closer there to sing. 
Little I care for praise or blame 
Unless it whispers of her name : 
Her praise is inspiration's breath ; 
Her scorn were aspiration's death ! 
Go, then, and if she welcome you 
I care not what the world may do ! 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



TO THE LITTLE READERS 

WHEN I was young, and long before 
The Muse came tapping at my door, 
What curious things I used to dream ! 
How very true they all did seem ! 
And when I went to bed at night 
I begged my mother to recite 
The Tales of Once-upon-a-Time y 
All written down in simple rhyme. 
How eagerly I listened, and 
How far I went in Fairy-land ! 
And these same songs she sang to me 
Still murmur in my memory. 
For me she made the world anew, — 
A jewel of each drop of dew ; 
The autumn leaves of golden tint 
Were coins come freshly from the mint ; 
The birds were poets all, who sang ; 
The flowers were bells the fairies rang ; 
And everything I saw became 
Another, with another name. 
So, little folk, these verses from 
The rosary of childhood come 
[145] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

For you to string on Fancy's line, 
To be your joy as they were mine, — 
To be your joy, and so to bless 
Your hearts with song and happiness ! 



BLOSSOMS 

OUT of my window I could see 
But yesterday, upon the tree, 
The blossoms white, like tufts of snow 
That had forgotten when to go. 

And while I looked out at them, they 
Seemed like small butterflies at play, 
For in the breeze their flutterings 
Made me imagine them with wings. 

I must have fancied well, for now 
There 's not a blossom on the bough, 
And out of doors 't is raining fast, 
And gusts of wind are whistling past. 

With butterflies 't is etiquette 
To keep their wings from getting wet, 
So, when they knew the storm was near, 
They thought it best to disappear. 



[ 146] 



DAISIES 



ANEMONE 



A SCULPTOR is the Sun, I know, 
Whose shining marble is the snow : 
All through the winter, day by day, 
He with his golden chisel-ray 
Toils patiently that he may bring 
A statue forth to honor Spring ; 
And when she comes, behold it there, — 
A blossom in the gentle air, — 
A form of gracious symmetry, — 
A fragile white anemone ! 



DAISIES 

AT evening when I go to bed 
I see the stars shine overhead ; 
They are the little daisies white 
That dot the meadow of the Night. 

And often while I 'm dreaming so, 
Across the sky the Moon will go ; 
It is a lady, sweet and fair, 
Who comes to gather daisies there. 

For, when at morning I arise, 
There 's not a star left in the skies ; 
She 's picked them all and dropped them down 
Into the meadows of the town. 
[ 147] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



SPRING'S COMING 



THE woodland brooks that murmur as they go 
In silver ripples through the fringing grass 
Are harp-strings touched by God : the winds that blow 
Are Spring's gay children, singing as they pass. 

And where the sod is trodden by their feet, 

The Earth, all gladdened by youth's warmer blood, 

Puts forth her fragile urns of odors sweet — 
The violet and fragrant crocus bud. 



GOLDEN-ROD 

SPRING is the morning of the year, 
And summer is the noontide bright ; 
The autumn is the evening clear 

That comes before the winter's night. 

And in the evening, everywhere 
Along the roadside, up and down, 

I see the golden torches flare 

Like lighted street-lamps in the town. 

I think the butterfly and bee, 

From distant meadows coming back, 

Are quite contented when they see 

These lamps along the homeward track. 
[ 148 J 



JANUARY 

But those who stay too late get lost ; 

For when the darkness falls about, 
Down every lighted street the Frost 

Will go and put the torches out. 



JANUARY 

JANUARY, bleak and drear, 
First arrival of the year, 
Named for Janus, — Janus who, 
Fable says, has faces two ; 
Pray, is that the reason why 
Yours is such a fickle sky ? 
First you smile, and to us bring 
Dreams of the returning spring ; 
Then, without a sign, you frown, 
And the snowflakes hurry down, 
Making all the landscape white, 
Just as if it blanched with fright, 
You obey no word or law ; 
Now you freeze, and then you thaw, 
Teasing all the brooks that run 
With the hope of constant sun, 
Chaining all their feet at last 
Firm in icy fetters fast. 
Month of all months most contrary, 
Sweet and bitter January ! 



[ 149 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



FEBRUARY 

FEBRUARY, — fortnights two,— 
Briefest of the months are you, 
Of the winter's children last. 
Why do you go by so fast ? 
Is it not a little strange 
Once in four years you should change, 
That the sun should shine and give 
You another day to live ? 
May be this is only done 
Since you are the smallest one ; 
So I make the shortest rhyme 
For you, as befits your time : 
You 're the baby of the year, 
And to me you 're very dear, 
Just because you bring the line, 
" Will you be my Valentine? " 

MARCH 

MARCH ! and all the winds cry, March! 
As they sweep the heavens' arch, 
Polishing the stars that gem 
Earth's resplendent diadem, 
Setting all the waters free 
From the winter's chancery, 
Sending down an avalanche 
From the tree's snow-covered branch. 
[ 150] 



APRIL 

March makes clear the frosty track 
That the birds may hasten back 
On their northward flight and bring 
Jocund carols for the Spring. 
March is merry, March is mad, 
March is gay, and March is sad ; 
Every humor we may know 
If we list the winds that blow. 
Have you heard the bugle-call 
Gathering the soldiers all ? 
March is Spring's own trumpeter, 
Hailing us to welcome her. 



APRIL 

OUTDOORS the white rain coming down 
Made rivers of the streets in town, 
And where the snow in patches lay 
It washed the Winter's signs away. 
How fast it fell ! How warm it felt ! 
The icicles began to melt : 
A silver needle seemed each one 
Thrust in the furnace of the Sun — 
The Vulcan Sun who forged them all, 
In raindrops, crystals round and small. 
The air was filled with tiny ropes 
On which were strung these April hopes, — 
White water-beads that searched the ground 
Until the thirsty seeds were found. 
[ 151 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Then came blue sky ; the streets were clean, 

And in the garden spots of green 

Were glistening in golden light, — 

The grass — and Spring — almost in sight ! 

A bluebird sang its song near by ; 

Oh, happy Spring is come, thought I : 

When all at once the air grew chill, 

Again the snow-flakes fell until 

The ground was covered, and the trees 

Stood in the drifts up to their knees. 

I think this bird who dared to sing 
Was premature about the Spring, 
Or else he joked in manner cool, 
And caroled lightly, "April Fool!" 



MAY 

MAY shall make the world anew ; 
Golden sun and silver dew, 
Money minted in the sky, 
Shall the earth's new garments buy. 
May shall make the orchards bloom ; 
And the blossoms' fine perfume 
Shall set all the honey-bees 
Murmuring among the trees. 
May shall make the bud appear 
Like a jewel, crystal clear, 
'Mid the leaves upon the limb 
Where the robin lilts his hymn. 
[ 152] 



JUNE 

May shall make the wild-flowers tell 
Where the shining snowflakes fell, 
Just as though each snowflake's heart, 
By some secret, magic art, 
Were transmuted to a flower 
In the sunlight and the shower. 
Is there such another, pray, 
Wonder-making month as May ? 



JUNE 

OJUNE I delicious month of June, 
When winds and birds all sing in tune ; 
When in the meadows swarm the bees 
And hum their drowsy melodies; 
O June ! the month of bluest skies, 
Dear to the pilgrim butterflies, 
Who seem gay-colored leaves astray, 
Blown down the amber tides of day ; 
O June ! the month of merry song, 
Of shadow brief, of sunshine long ; 
All things on earth love you the best, — 
The bird who carols near his nest ; 
The wind that wakes, and, singing, blows 
The spicy perfume of the rose ; 
And bee, who sounds his muffled horn 
To celebrate the dewy morn: 
And even all the stars above 
At night are happier for love, 
[ 153 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

As if the mellow notes of mirth 
Were wafted to them from the earth. 
O June ! such music haunts your name, 
With you the summer's chorus came. 



JULY 

JULY, for you the songs are sung 
By birds the leafy trees among ; 
With merry carolings they wake 
The meadows at the morning's break, 
And through the day the lisping breeze 
Is woven with their tree-top glees : 
For you the prattling, pebbly brooks 
Are full of tales like story-books : 
For you a fragrant incense burns 
Within the garden's blossom urns, 
Which tempts the bees to hasten home 
With honey for their honeycomb. 
The river, like a looking-glass, 
Reflects the fleecy clouds that pass, 
Until it makes us almost doubt 
If earth and sky are n't changed about. 
July, for you, in silence deep, 
The world seems fallen fast asleep, 
Save on one glorious holiday, 
When all our books we put away, 
And every little maid and man 
Is proud to be American. 
[ 154 1 



SEPTEMBER 



AUGUST 



AUGUST, month when summer lies 
Sleeping under sapphire skies. 
Open all the windows wide, 
Drink the orchard's fragrant tide, — 
Breath of grass at morning mown 
Through the leafy vistas blown ; 
Hear the swishing of the scythe, 
Sound mellifluent and blithe : 
August, month when everywhere 
Music floats upon the air 
From the harp of minstrel gales, 
Playing down the hills and dales : 
August, month when sleepy cows 
Seek the shade of spreading boughs, 
Where the birds alight to sing 
And the fruit hangs ripening: 
August, month of twilights, when 
Day half goes, and comes again ; 
August days are guards who keep 
Watch while Summer lies asleep. 

SEPTEMBER 

HERE 'S a lyric for September, 
Best of all months to remember ; 
Month when summer breezes tell 
What has happened wood and dell, 
[ 155 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Of the joy the year has brought, 

And the changes she has wrought. 

She has turned the verdure red ; 

In the blue sky overhead, 

She the harvest moon has hung, 

Like a silver boat among 

Shoals of stars, — bright jewels set 

In the earth's blue coronet ; 

She has brought the orchard's fruit 

To repay the robin's flute 

Which has gladdened half the year 

With a music, liquid clear ; 

And she makes the meadow grass 

Catch the sunbeams as they pass, 

Till the autumn's floor is rolled 

With a fragrant cloth of gold. 



OCTOBER 

OCTOBER is the month that seems 
All woven with midsummer dreams ; 
She brings for us the golden days 
That fill the air with smoky haze ; 
She brings for us the lisping breeze, 
And wakes the gossips in the trees, 
Who whisper near the vacant nest 
Forsaken by its feathered guest. 
Now half the birds forget to sing, 
And half of them have taken wing, 
[ 156] 



NOVEMBER 

Before their pathway shall be lost 
Beneath the gossamer of frost. 
Now one by one the gay leaves fly 
Zigzag across the yellow sky ; 
They rustle here and flutter there ; 
Until the bough hangs chill and bare. 
What joy for us — what happiness 
Shall cheer the day, the night shall bless ? 
'T is Hallowe'en, the very last 
Shall keep for us remembrance fast, 
When every child shall duck the head 
To find the precious pippin red. 



NOVEMBER 

WHO shall sing to bleak November, 
Month of frost and glowing ember ? 
Is there nothing then to praise 
In these thirty chilly days ? 
Ah, but who shall lack for song 
When the nights are still and long ; 
When beside the logwood fire 
We may hear the wood-elves' choir, 
Making dainty music float 
Up the big, brick chimney's throat ; 
When within the flames and smoke 
We may see the fairy folk, 
Coming hither, going thither, 
Vanishing, we know not whither, — 
[ 157 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Or, perhaps they all depart 
To the forest's frozen heart, 
There to tell the barren trees 
Of the fireside's mysteries, — 
How they saw some other elves 
Just as funny as themselves ! 

DECEMBER 

DECEMBER 'S come, and with her brought 
A world in whitest marble wrought ; 
The trees and fence and all the posts 
Stand motionless and white as ghosts, 
And all the paths we used to know 
Are hidden in the drifts of snow. 
December brings the longest night, 
And cheats the day of half its light. 
No song-bird breaks the perfect hush ; 
No meadow-brook with liquid gush 
Runs telling tales in babbling rhyme 
Of liberty and summer time, 
But frozen in its icy cell 
Awaits the sun to break the spell. 
Breathe once upon the window glass, 
And see the mimic mists that pass, — 
Fantastic shapes that go and come 
Forever silvery and dumb. 

December Santa Claus shall bring, — 
Of happy children happy king, — 
[ 158] 



KING BELL 

Who with his sleigh and reindeer stops 
At all good people's chimney tops. 

Then let the holly red be hung, 

And all the sweetest carols sung, 

While we with joy remember them — 

The journeyers to Bethlehem, 

Who followed, trusting from afar 

The guidance of that happy star 

Which marked the spot where Christ was born 

Long years ago, one Christmas morn ! 



KING BELL 

LONG years ago there lived a King, 
A mighty man and bold, 
Who had two sons, named Dong and Ding, 
Of whom this tale is told. 

Prince Ding was clear of voice, and tall, 

A Prince in every line ; 
Prince Dong, his voice was very small, 

And he but four feet nine. 



Now both these sons were very dear 
To Bell, the mighty King. 

They always hastened to appear 
When he for them would ring. 
[i59l 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Ding never failed the first to be, 
But Dong, he followed well, 

And at the second summons he 
Responded to King Bell. 

This promptness of each royal Prince 

Is all of them we know, 
Except that all their kindred since 

Have done exactly so. 

And if you chance to know a King 

Like this one of the song, 
Just listen once — and there is Ding ; 

Again — - and there is Dong. 



IN THE MEADOW 

THE meadow is a battle-field 
Where Summer's army comes, 
Each soldier with a clover shield, 
The honey-bees with drums. 

Boom, rat-ta ! they march, and pass 

The captain tree who stands 

Saluting with a sword of grass 

And giving them commands. 

'T is only when the breezes blow 

Across the woody hills, 
They shoulder arms, and, to and fro, 

March in their full-dress drills. 
[ 160] 



FAIRY JEWELS 

Boom, rat-ta ! they wheel in line 
And wave their gleaming spears ; 
" Charge ! " cries the captain, giving sign, 
And every soldier cheers. 

But when the day is growing dim 

They gather in their camps 
And sing a good thanksgiving hymn 
Around the firefly lamps. 
Rat-tat-ta ! the bugle-notes 

Call "good-night" to the sky: 
I hope they all have overcoats 
To keep them warm and dry. 



FAIRY JEWELS 

O WHITE moon sailing down the sky, 
I watch you when in bed I lie ; 
I watch you on the calm, blue deep, 
And dream of you when fast asleep. 
I fancy as I see you float 
That you are some good fairy's boat, 
And winds that in my windows blow 
Are the same winds that make you go ; 
Each star that shines for me so bright 
For you is just a beacon light. 
I half believe that it is you 
Who bring to us the morning dew, — 
[ 161 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Each drop is so much like a gem, ' 
I think the fairy gathers them, 
And leaning over as you pass 
Lets millions fall upon the grass. 



THE FOUR WINDS 

IN winter, when the wind I hear 
I know the clouds will disappear ; 
For 't is the wind who sweeps the sky 
And piles the snow in ridges high. 

In spring, when stirs the wind, I know 
That soon the crocus buds will show ; 
For 't is the wind who bids them wake 
And into pretty blossoms break. 

In summer when it softly blows, 
Soon red I know will be the rose, 
For 't is the wind to her who speaks, 
And brings the blushes to her cheeks. 

In autumn, when the wind is up, 
I know the acorn 's out its cup ; 
For 't is the wind who takes it out, 
And plants an oak somewhere about. 



[ 162 ] 



HUMMING-BIRD SONG 



HUMMING-BIRD SONG 

HUMMING-BIRD, 
Not a word 

Do you say ; 
Has your throat 
No sweet note 

To repay 
Honest debts 
It begets 

When you go 
On the wing 
Pilfering 

To and fro ? 

May be you 
Whisper to 

Bloom and leaf 
On the vine 
Secrets fine 

In your brief 
Calls on them, 
Winged gem. 

Not a word 
You reply ! 
Off you fly, 

Humming-bird ! 



[ 163] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



PEBBLES 



OUT of a pellucid brook 
Pebbles round and smooth I took 
Like a jewel, every one 
Caught a color from the sun, — 
Ruby red and sapphire blue, 
Emerald and onyx too, 
Diamond and amethyst, — 
Not a precious stone I missed : 
Gems I held from every land 
In the hollow of my hand. 
Workman Water these had made ; 
Patiently through sun and shade, 
With the ripples of the rill 
He had polished them until, 
Smooth, symmetrical and bright, 
Each one sparkling in the light 
Showed within its burning heart 
All the lapidary's art ; 
And the brook seemed thus to sing : 
Patience conquers everything ! 

IN THE ORCHARD 

O ROBIN in the cherry-tree, 
I hear you caroling your glee. 
The platform where you lightly tread 
Is lighted up with cherries red, 
[ 164 1 



A REAL SANTA CLAUS 

And there you sing among the boughs, 
Like Patti at the opera-house. 

Who is the hero in your play 
To whom you sing in such a way ? 
And why are you so gayly dressed, 
With scarlet ribbons on your breast ? 
And is your lover good and true ? 
And does he always sing to you ? 

Your orchestra are winds that blow 
Their blossom notes to me below, 
And all the trembling leaves are throngs 
Of people clapping for your songs. 
I wonder if you like it when 
I clap for you to sing again. 



A REAL SANTA CLAUS 

SANTA CLAUS, I hang for you, 
By the mantel, stockings two : 
One for me and one to go 
To another boy I know. 

There's a chimney in the town 
You have never traveled down. 
Should you chance to enter there 
You would find a room all bare : 
Not a stocking could you spy, 
Matters not how you might try ; 
[ 165] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

And the shoes, you 'd find are such 
As no boy would care for much. 
In a broken bed you 'd see 
Some one just about like me, 
Dreaming of the pretty toys 
Which you bring to other boys, 
And to him a Christmas seems 
Merry only in his dreams. 

All he dreams then, Santa Claus, 
Stuff the stocking with, because 
When it 's filled up to the brim 
I '11 be Santa Claus to him ! 



CHERRIES 

APRIL brought the blossoms out, 
May winds scattered them about, 
Till the grassy floor below 
Whitened with their fragrant snow ; 
Then came June with golden sun, 
Of all months the fairest one, 
Smiling on the trees and brooks 
Like a child with picture-books. 

In the green leaves overhead 
Little lights were burning red ; 
Looking up, it seemed that I 
Saw the stars in fairy sky 
[ 166I 



CHERRIES 

Glistening the leaves among, 
Lanterns by the pixies hung ; 
But I heard a song-bird pipe 
" Cherry ripe ! " and " Cherry ripe ! " 

He who sings of cherries best 
Wears their colors on his breast ; 
He their poet is, and he 
Makes his dwelling in their tree. 
'T is not strange his song is sweet ; 
Think — the cherries he can eat ! 
Busy with his feathered wits 
He makes bare the cherry pits. 

Bring the basket, little maid ; 
Let us lend Sir Robin aid. 
I will climb among the boughs 
Where he has his tiny house, 
And if I can find him there 
I will ask him please to spare 
Of his tempting cherry feast 
One small basketful at least. 

I will tell him how in spring 
When you first had heard him sing, 
All upon the garden ground 
You the bread-crumbs threw around 
Then, if he 's the bird I think, 
He will answer in a wink, 
" Certainly : I 'd help you pick, 
If their stems were not so thick ! " 
[ 167] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



FLYING KITE 

I OFTEN sit and wish that I 
Could be a kite up in the sky, 
And ride upon the breeze, and go 
Whatever way it chanced to blow. 
Then I could look beyond the town, 
And see the river winding down, 
And follow all the ships that sail 
Like me before the merry gale, 
Until at last with them I came 
To some place with a foreign name. 



KRISS KRINGLE 

AWAY with melancholy ! 
This day is for delight ; 
When mistletoe and holly 

In wreaths and garlands bright 
Are hung above the ingle, 
And joyous voices mingle 
To welcome in Kriss Kringle, 
Who comes clad all in white ! 

Green spray and crimson berry 
A crown for him shall be ; 

Gay catch and carol merry 
Shall fill his heart with glee, 
[ 168 1 



WIZARD FROST 

Shall match his sleigh-bells' jingle 
And warm his ears a-tingle, — 
A greeting to Kriss Kringle, 
The Christmas Fairy he ! 



Within his sleigh he carries 

The presents high up-piled ; 
Not long with us he tarries, 
By leaf and song beguiled. 
God-speed, down dale and dingle, 
May there not be a single 
Forgotten one, Kriss Kringle ; 
But gifts for every child ! 



WIZARD FROST 

WONDROUS things have come to pass 
On my square of window-glass. 
Looking in it I have seen 
Grass no longer painted green, 
Trees whose branches never stir, 
Skies without a cloud to blur, 
Birds below them sailing high, 
Church-spires pointing to the sky, 
And a funny little town j 

Where the people, up and down 
Streets of silver, to me seem 
Like the people in a dream, 
[ 169 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Dressed in finest kinds of lace : 
'T is a picture, on a space 
Scarcely larger than the hand, 
Of a tiny Switzerland, 
Which the wizard Frost has drawn 
'Twixt the nightfall and the dawn. 
Quick ! and see what he has done 
Ere 't is stolen by the Sun. 



THE JUGGLER 

FROM these downy flakes of snow 
Winter scatters everywhere, 
Fragrant violets shall grow 
In the springtime's balmy air. 

Every snowdrop on the numb 

Branches of the barren tree 
Shall a ruby bud become 

When the warm sun sets it free. 

And the icicles that shine 
Dagger-like and crystal-clear 

In the fingers of the vine, 

Trembling leaves shall then appear. 

We shall know when comes this strange 
Juggler April, who shall bring 

Out of snow-drifts, " Presto, change ! " 

Birds and blossoms of the spring ! 

[ 170] 



A FAIRY STORY 



A FAIRY STORY 

THIS is what a fairy heard; 
Listening beside a stream, — 
Water talking in its dream. 
That is what I call absurd. 



This is what the water said : 

When I grow up big, I '11 be 
Like the river or the sea. 

And the fairy shook her head. 

Then she went upon her way 

Far across the hills and vales 
And she heard so many tales 

She forgot the dream one day. 

But, at last, spread out to view, 

Lay the ocean : then, once more, 
She heard water on the shore 

Whisper : / remember you. 

Once I was a tiny drop 

Dreaming in a meadow-brook. 

I was little then ; but look, — 
Now I *ve grown enough to stop ! 



[171 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

THE SHADOWS 

ALL up and down in shadow-town 
The shadow children go ; 
In every street you 're sure to meet 
Them running to and fro. 

They move around without a sound, 

They play at hide-and-seek, 
But no one yet that I have met 

Has ever heard them speak. 

Beneath the tree you often see 

Them dancing in and out, 
And in the sun there 's always one 

To follow you about. 

Go where you will, he follows still, 

Or sometimes runs before, 
And, home at last, you '11 find him fast 

Beside you at the door. 

A faithful friend is he to lend 

His presence everywhere ; 
Blow out the light — to bed at night — 

Your shadow-mate is there ! 

Then he will call the shadows all 

Into your room to leap, 
And such a pack ! they make it black, 

And fill your eyes with sleep ! 
[ 172 ] 



HIDE-AND-SEEK 



HIDE-AND-SEEK 



NOW hide the flowers beneath the snow, 
And Winter shall not find them ; 
Their safety nooks he cannot know : 
They left no tracks behind them. 

The little brooks keep very still, 

Safe in their ice-homes lying; 
Let Winter seek them where he will, 

There 's no chance for his spying. 

Gone are the birds : they 're hiding where 

The Winter never searches ; 
Safe in the balmy Southern air, 

They sing on sunlit perches. 

But comes the Spring at last to look 

For all her playmates hidden, 
And one by one — flower, bird, and brook — 

Shall from its place be bidden. 

Then shall the world be glad and gay, 

The birds begin their chorus, 
The brooks sing, too, along their way, 

And flowers spring up before us ! 



[ 173 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

THE ARCHER 

HIS home is yonder in the sky ; 
There, when the chase is o'er, 
He hangs his gorgeous bow on high 
Above the open door. 

And sitting down he looks around 
The green fields wide and far, 

Where prostrate lying on the ground 
His many victims are. 

Strong is his arm, he knows it well, 

And sure his steady aim ; 
For him the missing arrows tell , 

The number of the game. 

Come out, come out ! the hunt is done ; 

No danger shall we know ; 
For yonder see beneath the sun 

His promise and his bow ! 

A FUNNY FELLOW 

THERE is a funny fellow 
Who goes by every day : 
When sad his voice is mellow, 
But shrill when he is gay. 

Despite of my endeavor 

To see him, though we Ve met 
[ i74l 



SPINNING TOP 

I must confess I never 

Have seen his features yet. 

I know he pulls the thistles 
That grow along the lane, 

And pricks himself, and whistles 
To drive away the pain. 

And when the snow is falling 

So fast I may not see, 
I often hear him calling 

Across the fields to me. 

He certainly is funny, 

For, when I can go out, 
If it is warm and sunny 

He seldom is about. 

He sings to me, and makes me 

A sleepy child at night ; 
He sings again, and wakes me, 

At early morning bright. 

SPINNING TOP 

XT THEN I spin round without a stop 
V Y And keep my balance like the top, 
I find that soon the floor will swim 
Before my eyes ; and then, like him, 
I lie all dizzy on the floor 
Until I feel like spinning more. 
[ i75l 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



SMILES AND TEARS 

I SMILE, and then the Sun comes out ; 
He hides away whene'er I pout ; 
He seems a very funny sun 
To do whatever he sees done. 

And when it rains he disappears ; 
Like me, he can't see through the tears. 
Now is n't that the reason why 
I ought to smile and never cry ? 

In more than this is he like me ; 
For every evening after tea 
He closes up his eyelids tight, 
And opens them at morning's light. 



THE CANARY 

UP in your cage of gold, 
Singing us all awake, 
What, if it might be told, 

What is the wish you 'd make f 

Is it, " I 'd like to be 

Out in the open air, 
Out of this cage, and free, 

Free to go anywhere? " 
[176] 



CLOUDS 

You 're such a happy bird, 
Caroling all day long, 

Nobody ever heard 

You sing a solemn song. 

So I have come to think 
This is your carol sweet : 
11 Plenty have I to drink, 
Plenty have I to eat ; 

" So I 'm content to stay 
Here in my golden ring, 
Nothing to do all day, 
Only to eat and sing." 



CLOUDS 

THE sky is full of clouds to-day, 
And idly, to and fro, 
Like sheep across the pasture, they 

Across the heavens go. 
I hear the wind with merry noise 

Around the housetops sweep, 
And dream it is the shepherd boys, — 
They 're driving home their sheep. 

The clouds move faster now ; and see ! 

The west is red and gold. 
Each sheep seems hastening to be 

The first within the fold. 
[ 177 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

I watch them hurry on until 
The blue is clear and deep, 

And dream that far beyond the hill 
The shepherds fold their sheep. 

Then in the sky the trembling stars 

Like little flowers shine out, 
While Night puts up the shadow bars, 

And darkness falls about. 
I hear the shepherd wind's good-night - 

" Good-night, and happy sleep ! " — 
And dream that in the east, all white, 

Slumber the clouds, the sheep. 



LEAVES AT PLAY 

SCAMPER, little leaves, about 
In the autumn sun ; 
I can hear the old Wind shout, 

Laughing as you run, 
And I have n't any doubt 
That he likes the fun. 

When you 've run a month or so, 
Very tired you '11 get ; 

But the same old Wind, I know, 
Will be laughing yet 

When he tucks you in your snow- 
Downy coverlet. 
[ 178 1 



SHADOW PICTURES 

So, run on and have your play, 
Romp with all your might ; 

Dance across the autumn day, 
While the sun is bright. 

Soon you '11 hear the old Wind say, 
" Little leaves, Good-night ! " 



SHADOW PICTURES 

IN the day or night, 
When the lamps are bright, 
Far up in the sky's blue dome, 
Every kind of tree 
Is a child like me, 

Amusing himself at home. 

On the ground below 
In the brilliant glow 

Of stars, or of moon or sun, 
There the shadows fall 
On the grassy wall, 

And over the garden run. 

There are cats and kings, 
There are birds with wings, 

And curious kinds of men ; 
And they dance and play 
In a funny way, 

And vanish, and come again. 
[ 179 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Oh, I wish I knew 
How their fingers do 

Such tricks with the shadows dark ; 
Then I 'd make the birds 
And the beasts in herds, 

To go in a shadow ark. 

And the flood should come, 
As it once did, from 

The lamp on the parlor shelf ; 
And my shadow boat 
On the wall should float, 

And Noah should be myself. 



GHOST FAIRIES 

WHEN the open fire is lit, 
In the evening after tea, 
Then I like to come and sit 
Where the fire can talk to me. 

Fairy stories it can tell, 

Tales of a forgotten race, — 

Of the fairy ghosts that dwell 
In the ancient chimney place. 

They are quite the strangest folk 

Anybody ever knew, 
Shapes of shadow and of smoke 

Living in the chimney flue. 
[ 180 ] 



SONG FOR WINTER 

" Once," the fire said, " long ago, 
With the wind they used to rove, 
Gipsy fairies, to and fro, 

Camping in the field and grove. 

" Hither with the trees they came, 
Hidden in the logs; and here, 
Hovering above the flame, 
Often some of them appear." 

So I watch, and, sure enough, 
I can see the fairies ! Then, 

Suddenly there comes a puff — 
Whish ! — and they are gone again ! 



SONG FOR WINTER 

NOW winter fills the world with snow, 
Wild winds across the country blow, 
And all the trees, with branches bare, 
Like beggars shiver in the air. 
Oh, now hurrah for sleds and skates ! 
A polar expedition waits 
When school is done each day for me — 
Off for the ice-bound arctic sea. 

The ice is strong upon the creek, 
The wind has roses for the cheek, 
The snow is knee-deep all around, 
And earth with clear blue sky is crowned. 
[ 181 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Then come, and we may find the hut 
Wherein the Esquimau is shut, 
Or see the polar bear whose fur 
Makes fun of the thermometer. 

Let us who want our muscles tough 

orsake the tippet and the muff. 
The keen fresh wind will do no harm, 
The leaping blood shall keep us warm, 
A spin upon our arctic main 
Shall drive the clouds from out the brain, 
And for our studies we at night 
Shall have a better appetite. 



A DEWDROP 

LITTLE drop of dew, 
Like a gem you are ; 
I believe that you 

Must have been a star. 

When the day is bright, 
On the grass you lie ; 

Tell me then, at night 
Are you in the sky ? 



[ 182 



JESTER BEE 

JESTER BEE 

THE garden is a royal court 
Whose jester is the bee, 
And with his wit and merry sport 
He fills the place with glee. 

He sings love ditties to the Rose 
Who is the queen of all ; 

To princess Lily up he goes 
And whispers she is tall ; 

He pulls prince Pansy by the ear; 

He does all sorts of things 
That are ridiculous and queer — 

But all the while he sings. 

He does not seem to think it wrong 

Such liberties to take ; 
And they who love his happy song 

Forgive him for its sake. 

And when at last the royal clown 
Takes off his jester's mask, 

He seriously sits him down 
Before his honey task. 

Then to himself he sings away, 

And here 's the burden true : 

" Oh, sweet are all my hours of play, 

And sweet my honey, too ! " 

[ 183 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



SNOWFLAKES 

OUT of the sky they come 
Wandering down the air, - 
Some to the roofs and some 
Whiten the branches bare ; 

Some in the empty nest, 

Some on the ground below, ; 

Until the world is dressed 
All in a gown of snow. 

Dressed in a fleecy gown 
Out of the snowflakes spun ; 

Wearing a golden crown, — 
Over her head the sun 

Out of the sky again 

Ghosts of the flowers that died 
Visit the earth, and then 

Under the white drifts hide. 



DREAMS 

WHO can tell us whence they come, 
What mysterious region from ? . 
In what fairy country lies 
That strange city of surprise, 
[ 184 1 



DREAMS 

Whither we in slumber' go 
By a path we do not know ? 
Is it near or far away ? 
And the people, who are they ? 

Once when I was there, the town 
Seemed entirely upside down :V 
Roofs of barns and houses stood 
Where the stone foundations should, 
And the streets all seemed to run 
Straight as arrows to the sun 
Where, like ribbons, they were wound 
Its great, golden spool around. 

All the men and horses there, 
Topsy-turvy in the air, 
Walked and trotted on the blue 
Pavements of the avenue. 
But at morning when I woke, 
I discovered 't was a joke, 
For the first thing I found out 
Was that I had turned about. 

How to go there, who can tell, 
Where these fairy people dwell ? 
Strange it is that morning's light 
Cannot show the path of night ; 
Stranger yet that we can keep 
It so surely in our sleep ; 
But the very strangest seems 
Being wide-awake in dreams. 
[ 185 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

MAY-CHILDREN 

CAPTIVES to winter's cruel king, 
In gloomy dungeons cast 
The merry children of the spring . 
Lay bound in fetters fast. 

They heard the wind, their surly guard, 

His angry summons roar, 
And trembled when the sleet fell hard 

Against their prison door. 

The wild flower whispered to the grass, 
" What hope have we to live ? " 

But answer none made he. Alas ! 
He had no hope to give. 

So in the darkness sad they wept, 

Nor any comfort won, 
Save when into their sleep there crept 

Dreams of the gentle sun. 

But once while they were dreaming so, 

Came April's soldier rains, 
Who burst their prison bars of snow, 

And freed them of their chains. 

Then forth they went into the world, 
Spring's children bright and gay, 

And to the fragrant breeze unfurled 
Their banner blooms of May. 
r 186 1 



SOLDIERS OF THE SUN 

ROBIN'S APOLOGY 

ONE morning in the garden 
I heard the robin's song : 
" I really beg your pardon 
For tarrying so long ; 

" And this is just the reason, — 
Whatever way I flew, 
I met a backward season, 

Which kept me backward too.' 



SOLDIERS OF THE SUN 

ALONG the margin of the world 
They march with their bright banners 
furled, 
Until, in line of battle drawn, 
They reach the boundaries of dawn. 
They cross the seas and rivers deep, 
They climb the mountains high and steep, 
And hurry on until in sight 
Of their black enemy, the Night ; 
Then madly rush into the fray 
The armies of the Night and Day. 
Swiftly the shining arrows go ; 
The bugling winds their warnings blow. 
Strive as he will, the Night is pressed 
Farther and farther down the west. 
[ 187 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

With golden spear and gleaming lance 
The cohorts of the Day advance, 
Until the victory is won 
By his brave Soldiers of the Sun. 



SNOW SONG 

OVER valley, over hill, 
Hark, the shepherd piping shrill ! 
Driving all the white flocks forth 
From the far folds of the North. 
Blow, Wind, blow ; 

Weird melodies you play, 

Following your flocks that go 

Across the world to-day. 

How they hurry, how they crowd 
When they hear the music loud ! 
Grove and lane and meadow full 
Sparkle with their shining wool. 
Blow, Wind, blow 

Until the forests ring : 
Teach the eaves the tunes you know, 
And make the chimney sing! 

Hither, thither, up and down 
Every highway of the town, 
Huddling close, the white flocks all 
Gather at the shepherd's call. 
[ 188 ] 



THE RAIN-HARP 

Blow, Wind, blow 

Upon your pipes of joy ; 
All your sheep the flakes of snow 

And you their shepherd boy ! 

THE RAIN-HARP 

WHEN out-of-doors is full of rain, 
I look out through the window-pane 
And see the branches of the trees 
Like people dancing to the breeze. 

They bow politely, cross, and meet, 
Salute their partners, and retreat, 
And never stop to rest until 
They reach the end of the quadrille. 

I listen, and I hear the sound 
Of music floating all around, 
And fancy 't is the Breeze who plays 
Upon his harp on stormy days. 

The strings are made of rain, and when 
The branches wish to dance again, 
They whisper to the Breeze, and he 
Begins another melody. 

I 've heard him play the pretty things 
Upon those slender, shining strings ; 
And when he 's done — he 's very sharp — 
He always hides away the harp. 
[ 189 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



ELFIN LAMPS 



WHY all the stars in the sky are so bright, 
I am sure no one knows but themselves up 
there. 
Are they the lamps which are hung out at night 
For the fays and the gnomes and the elves up there ? 

BIRDS' MUSIC 

THE little leaves upon the trees 
Are written o'er with notes and words, 
The pretty madrigals and glees 
Sung by the merry minstrel birds. 

Their teacher is the Wind, I know ; 

For while they 're busy at their song, 
He turns the music quickly so 

The tune may smoothly move along. 

So all through summer-time they sing, 
And make the woods and meadows sweet, 

And teach the brooks, soft murmuring, 
Their dainty carols to repeat. 

And when, at last, their lessons done, 
The winter brings a frosty day, 

Their teacher takes them, one by one, 
Their music, too, and goes away. 
[ 190 ] 



SHADOW CHILDREN 



SHADOW CHILDREN 

WHEN the sun shines, then I see 
Shadows underneath the tree 
Gliding merrily around, 

Never making any sound, 
Playing at their games, no doubt, — 
Games I do not know about. 

All day long together so 
Lightly o'er the ground they go, 
Meet and separate and meet, 
Scamper down the shadow street, 
For an instant here, and then 
Just as quickly gone again. 

When with clouds the skies are gray, 
In their house the shadows stay, 
With their picture-books and toys, 
Like all other girls and boys ; 
But as soon as shines the sun 
Out of doors they gladly run. 

So for hours they play, until 
Sinks the sun behind the hill ; 
Then, like me, they go to bed, 
In the tree-house overhead, 
And the winds their cradles swing 
To the lullabies they sing. 
[ 191 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



FAIRY SHIPWRECK 



ONE morning when the rain was done, 
And all the trees adrip, 
I found, all shining in the sun, 
A storm-wrecked fairy ship. 

Its hull was fashioned of a leaf, 

A tiny twig its mast, 
And high upon a green-branch reef 

By winds it had been cast. 

A spider's web, the fragile sail, 

Now flying loose and torn, 
Once spread itself to catch the gale 

By which the ship was borne. 

Its voyages at last were o'er, 

And gone were all the crew ; 
And did they safely get ashore ? 

Alas, I wish I knew! 



B 



BEES 

EES don't care about the snow ; 
I can tell you why that 's so : 



Once I caught a little bee 
Who was much too warm for me ! 
[ 192 ] 



LULLABY 



THE WATERFALL 

TINKLE, tinkle ! 
Listen well ! 
Like a fairy silver bell 
In the distance ringing, 
Lightly swinging 
In the air ; 

'T is the water in the dell 
Where the elfin minstrels dwell, 
Falling in a rainbow sprinkle, 
Dropping stars that brightly twinkle 
Bright and fair, 
On the darkling pool below, 
Making music so ; 
'T is the water elves who play 
On their lutes of spray. 
Tinkle ', tinkle ! 
Like a fairy silver bell ; 
Like a pebble in a shell ; 
Tinkle, tinkle ! 
Listen well ! 

LULLABY 

SLUMBER, slumber, little one, now 
The bird is asleep in his nest on the bough ; 
The bird is asleep, he has folded his wings, 
And over him softly the dream-fairy sings : 
[ 193] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby 1 
Pearls in the deep — 

Stars in the sky, 
Dreams in our sleep ; 
So lullaby ! 

Slumber, slumber, little one, soon 
The fairy will come in the ship of the moon : 
The fairy will come with the pearls and the stars, 
And dreams will come singing through shadowy bars 
Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby ! 
Pearls in the deep — 

Stars in the sky, 
Dreams in our sleep ; 
So lullaby ! 

Slumber, slumber, little one, so ; 
The stars are the pearls that the dream-fairies know, 
The stars are the pearls, and the bird in the nest, 
A dear little fellow the fairies love best : 
Lullaby, lullaby — lullaby ! 
Pearls in the deep — 

Stars in the sky, 
Dreams in our sleep ; 
So lullaby ! 



B 



WINTER'S ACROBATS 

Y night he spread his white rugs down 
Upon the highways of the town ; 
[ 194 J 



WINTER'S ACROBATS 

His posters on the fences told 
Of games and pleasures manifold, 



And promised ever}- girl and boy 
A day of undivided joy, 

Of merry sport and healthy fun, 
In case there were not any sun. 

The gray sky was his spacious tent, 
And nearly all the children went. 

Some took their sleds, some took their skates, 
Some took themselves, and some their mates. 

Then all day long, on pond and hill, 
They slid and coasted with a will, 

And built snow images and forts, 
And played at all their jolly sports. 

And when at last 't was time to end 
The happy games and homeward wend, 

They cried, while tossing high their hats, 
" Three cheers for Winter's Acrobats ! " 



[ 195] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



VACATION SONG 

WHEN study and school are over, 
How jolly it is to be free, 
Away in the fields of clover, 

The honey-sweet haunts of the bee! 

Away in the woods to ramble, 
Where, merrily all day long, 

The birds in the bush and bramble 
Are filling the summer with song. 

Away in the dewy valley 

To follow the murmuring brook, 
Or sit on its bank and dally 

Awhile with a line and a hook. 

Away from the stir and bustle, 
The noise of the town left behind: 

Vacation for sport and muscle, 
The winter for study and mind. 

There 's never a need to worry, 
There 's never a lesson to learn, 

There 's never a bell to hurry, 
There 's never a duty to spurn. 

So play till the face grows ruddy 
And muscles grow bigger, and then 

Go back to the books and study ; 
We '11 find it as pleasant again. 
[ 196 ] 



THE FAIRIES' DANCE 

THE SNOW-BIRD 

WHEN all the ground with snow is white, 
The merry snow-bird comes, 
And hops about with great delight 
To find the scattered crumbs. 

How glad he seems to get to eat 

A piece of cake or bread ! 
He wears no shoes upon his feet, 

Nor hat upon his head. 

But happiest is he, I know, 

Because no cage with bars 
Keeps him from walking on the snow 

And printing it with stars. 



THE FAIRIES' DANCE 

ONCE in the morning when the breeze 
Set all the leaves astir, 
And music floated from the trees 

As from a dulcimer, 
I saw the roses, one by one, 
Bow gracefully, as though 
A fairy dance were just begun 
Upon the ground below. 

The lilies white, beside the walk, 
Like ladies fair and tall, 
[ 197] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Together joined in whispered talk 

About the fairies' ball ; 
The slender grasses waved along 

The garden path, and I 
Could almost hear the fairies' song 

When blew the light wind by. 

I waited there till noon to hear 

The elfin music sweet ; 
I saw the servant bees appear • 

In golden jackets neat ; 
And though I wished just once to see 

The happy little elves, 
They were so much afraid of me 

They never showed themselves ! 



THE ROSE'S CUP 

DOWN in a garden olden, — 
Just where, I do not know, 
A buttercup all golden 

Chanced near a rose to grow ; 
And every morning early, 

Before the birds were up, 
A tiny dewdrop pearly 
Fell in this little cup. 

This was the drink of water 
The rose had every day ; 
[ 198 1 



THE SNOW-WEAVER 

But no one yet has caught her 
While drinking in this way. 

Surely, it is no treason 
To say she drinks so yet, 

For that may be the reason 
Her lips with dew are wet. 



THE SNOW-WEAVER 

BACK and forth the shuttles go 
Fashioning the cloth of snow, 
And the weaver you may hear 
At the wind-loom singing clear : 

" Slumber, little flowers, and dream 
Of the silver-throated stream, 
Shining through the April day 
As it were a music ray 
Bearing melody along 
From the mellow sun of song. 
Slumber, little fragrant faces, 
Dreaming in your quiet places ; 
Soon the dreams shall pass — and then 
You and Spring shall wake again ! " 

Thus the weaver at his loom 
Sings away the winter's gloom, 
While he weaves the coverlet 
For the dreamers who forget : 
[ 199 1 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

" Slumber, little flowers, and dream 
Of the April's golden beam 
Which shall come and fill your eyes 
With the sunlight of surprise ; 
Waking, you shall hear once more 
Song-birds at the daybreak's door. 
Slumber, little fragrant faces, 
Dreaming in your quiet places. 
Soon the dreams shall pass — and then 
You and Spring shall wake again ! " 



THE STORY-TELLER 

L HEY gather round him, one and all, 
A group of happy children small ; 

Their mouths are open wide ; their eyes 
Seem almost twice their normal size ; 

Some stand, some sit, and not a word 
From any one of them is heard. 

Now all is ready quite, for now 
The story-teller rubs his brow, 

And questions them : " What shall it be ? 
A fairy-tale from memory ? 

"Or shall I tell it in a song, 
And make up as I go along ? 
[ 200 ] 



THE STORY-TELLER 

" Which shall it be, in prose or rhyme, 
This tale of once upon a time ? 

" Or will you have a story true ? 
Choose anything that pleases you." 

A busy hum goes round, and then 
The voices quickly hush again ; 

For this small audience knows well 
That any story he may tell, 

Or any song that he may sing, 
Will be a most delightful thing. 

"We 11 let you choose," they cry, and so 
He tells a tale of long ago. 

There 's something told about a gem 
Set in a Sultan's diadem, 

Which shone in such a brilliant way 
It changed the darkness into day. 

And there 's a robber and a lot 
Of other people in the plot, — 

A prince, a princess, and a page, 
A parrot in a golden cage. 
I 201 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

And there 's the palace court-yard where 
The Sultan walks when it is fair ; 

And there 's a funny dwarf he had 
To cheer him up when he was sad. 

Of course the robber comes to grief; 
The gem was in his handkerchief : 

The parrot 't is who picked it up 
And dropped it in his water cup ; 

And then the prince the parrot bought, 
And found the gem the Sultan sought. 

So runs for one long hour the tale, 
And finds the robber safe in jail. 

The parrot has become quite tame, 
And calls the princess by her name ; 

The page has had his pay increased, 
Which he deserved, to say the least; 

The dwarf — the Sultan's merry dwarf — 
Has been presented with a scarf, 

Whose colors made the Sultan vext, 
And that 's 

Continued in tlie next, 

[ 202 ] 



THE RAINBOW 



THE RAINBOW 



AFTER the rain goes by, 
l Curving across the sky 
Behold the bow of light, — 
God's promise shining bright ! 
Under this glowing arch 
The myriad mist-folk march, 
And yonder — lo, the Sun ! 
Glistens the grass once more, 
The birds sing at the door, 
Blue the sky as before, 
And the rain is done ! 

Slowly the meadow mist 

Melts into amethyst ; 

Slowly the rainbow fair 

Fades in the amber air ; 

Wakes in the west a breeze 

Whispering through the trees 

The secrets of the Sun. 

Gleams like a gem the rose, 
Open its red door blows, 
Thither the glad bee goes, — 
And the rain is done ! 



[ 203 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 



THE STORY OF OMAR 

LONG centuries ago, three Persian boys, 
Thinking upon their hopes of future joys, 
Between them — Omar, Abdul, and Hassan — 
A lasting compact made, and thus it ran : 

Abdul and Omar and Hassan. These three, 
School-mates and friends , do solemnly agree 
That to whichever one success may come, — 
Honor or Wealth, — the hand of Allah from, 
This one to each companion dear shall make 
Some worthy offering for Friendship's sake. 

The years slipped by, and when good fortune came, 
It brought to Abdul honor, wealth, and fame : 
Vizier the Sultan made him, and 't was then 
He thought of Omar and Hassan again. 
And they, 't is said, remembering the old 
Agreement, came, their wishes to unfold. 

First spoke Hassan : " Of thee, O Friend, my heart 

Would crave of power to have some goodly part ! " 

But Omar said to Abdul : " It were well 

With me, O Friend, if I might ever dwell 

Within the shadow of thy happiness, 

And from Life's grape the wine of Wisdom press ! " 

To each was granted that for which he prayed ; 
The vow fulfilled, the promised debt was paid. 
[ 204 ] 



THE CHRISTMAS CAT 

But soon Hassan, grown greedier, forgot 
His love for Abdul, and began to plot 
Against the Sultan and the kind Vizier 
Whose hand had helped him to his high career ; 
And at his bidding did a rascal's knife 
Undo the thread of gracious Abdul's life. 

Now Omar, he in peace and comfort sought 
Wisdom, — a school-boy still, by Allah taught ; 
Studied the course of planet and of star, 
And for his Sultan made the Calendar ; 
But most he loved, at the propitious time, 
His gathered wisdom to record in rhyme. 

To-day, of all these three 't is he alone 
Whose name is honored and whose work is known. 
Modest he was, and being modest, wise ! 
Therein the moral of his story lies. 



THE CHRISTMAS CAT 

IT was the middle of the night 
When Santa Claus, clad all in white, 
Without a sign of any noise 
Came down the chimney with his toys. 
A host of pretty gifts he had 
To make a little fellow glad — 
Playthings of every kind and make 
To please him when he should awake. 
[ 205 ] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

Among them, and the last of all, 
A woolly kitten, fat and small, 
He placed upon the moonlit floor 
Close by the chamber's open door. 
Then up the chimney quick he sped 
And jumped into his snowy sled, 
And hurried back with jingling bells 
Unto the kingdom where he dwells. 

No sooner had he gone away 
When in came Mouser, grave and gray, 
A sort of cat-folk Santa Claws y 
Soft stepping on his velvet paws. 
And there before his very eyes 
The woolly kitten, half his size ! 
He bowed politely to his friend : 

" A cat," thought he, " let that amend ! " 
Then pausing, with a puzzled look, 
A survey of the stranger took, — 
Saw that his eyes were open wide, 
His tail curled neatly at his side, 
His whiskers brushed, all smooth his 

fur, — 
But could not catch his gentle purr. 
So Mouser deemed it wise and best 
To speak, and thus his friend addressed : 

" Friend of my kindred Catfolk, here 
Accept my welcome and good cheer. 
I 've been a long time in this house 
The sole destroyer of the mouse ; 
[ 206 J 



THE CHRISTMAS CAT 

Yet of the mice enough there be 
To satisfy both you and me, 
And you are welcome to your share 
So long as there are mice to spare." 

The woolly kitten silent sat, 
Which much surprised the elder cat. 
Then Mouser bade him tell his name, 
How old he was and whence he came ; 
And getting no response at all, 
His hopes began to faint and fall ; 
Yet once again he spoke, his pride 
Too great to let him be denied 
Of courtesy and proper grace 
By any member of his race. 

" Are you," quoth Mouser, " such a cat 
As would be thought aristocrat, 
Too proud and prim to be polite ? 
To meet a fellow-cat at night 
Halfway is what I wish to do, 
But not an inch will venture you. 
Know, sir, my lineage can tell 
On mother's side, a Tortoise-shell, 
And on my father's, if you please, 
That ancient family — Maltese ! 
Our coat-of-arms is of the best ; 
A cat-o '-nine- tails is my crest ! 
Speak then, if you can boast of more, 
I stand here ready to adore." 
[207] 



LITTLE-FOLK LYRICS 

But never once the stranger stirred, 
Nor answered Mouser with a word. 
So all his friendship spurned at last, 
Old Mouser from the chamber passed ; 
With bosom filled with discontent, 
And mood unhappy, out he went. 

" I Ve see all sorts of cats," said he, 

" And cats of every pedigree, 
But until now I Ve never come 
Across a kitten deaf and dumb ! 
I pity him in this old house, 
He '11 never hear a single mouse ! " 

But when the Christmas morning broke, 
The little boy from dreams awoke, 
And first of all his gifts was this 
Strange cat who could n't purr or siss ; 
He loved the woolly cat because 
It did n't scratch him with its claws. 



LYRICS OF JOY 

FANCY 



LYRICS OF JOY 



CONFESSION 

WHEN I was young I made a vow 
To keep youth in my heart as long 
As there were birds upon the bough 
To gladden me with song : 

To learn what lessons Life might give, 

To do my duty as I saw, 
To love my friends, to laugh and live 

Not holding Death in awe. 

So all my lyrics sing of joy, 

And shall until my lips are mute ; 

In old age happy as the boy 
To whom God gave the lute. 



WITCHERY 

OUT of the purple drifts, 
From the shadow sea of night, 
On tides of musk a moth uplifts 
Its weary wings of white. 
[211 1 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Is it a dream or ghost 

Of a dream that comes to me, 
Here in the twilight on the coast, 

Blue cinctured by the sea ? 

Fashioned of foam and froth — 

And the dream is ended soon, 
And, lo, whence came the moon-white moth 

Comes now the moth-white moon I 



DIES ULTIMA 

WHITE in her woven shroud, 
Silent she lies, 
Deaf to the trumpets loud 

Blown through the skies ; 
Never a sound can mar 
Her slumber long : 
She is a faded star, — 
A finished song ! 

Over her hangs the sun, 

A golden glow ; 
Round her the planets run, 

She does not know; 
For neither gloom nor gleam 

Can reach her sight : 
She is a broken dream, — 

A dead delight ! 
[ 212 ] 



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A TEAR BOTTLE 

No voice can waken her 

Again to sing; 
She nevermore will stir 

To feel the spring ; 
Through the dim ether hurled 

Till Time shall tire, 
She is a wasted world, — 

A frozen fire ! 



A TEAR BOTTLE 

GLASS, wherein a Greek girl's tears 
Once were gathered as they fell, 
After these two thousand years 
Is there still no tale to tell ? 

Buried with her, in her mound 
She is dust long since, but you 

Only yesterday were found 
Iridescent as the dew, — 

Fashioned faultlessly, a form 

Graceful as was hers whose cheek 

Once against you made you warm 
While you heard her sorrow speak. 

At your lips I listen long 

For some whispered word of her, 

For some ghostly strain of song 
In your haunted heart to stir : 
[213] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

But your crystal lips are dumb, 
Hushed the music in your heart : 

Ah, if she could only come 
Back again and bid it start ! 

Long is Art, but Life how brief ! 

And the end seems so unjust : — 
This companion of her grief 

Here to-day, while she is dust ! 



THE DAY'S SHROUD 

FROM sunrise to the set of sun 
The Winds went to and fro, 
Singing the while they deftly spun 
A garment white like snow. 

And in the dusk, unto the west 
They bore the robe of cloud, 

And for the grave the dead Day dressed 
Within this snowy shroud. 

Then, slowly vanishing from sight, 

I heard them softly sing, 
And saw above the grave at night 

The stars all blossoming. 



[214] 



A BIRD'S ELEGY 



A SEA GHOST 



ALL night I heard along the coast 
The sea her grief outpour ; 
And with the dawn arose a ghost 
To haunt the furrowed shore. 

And when from out the gray mist rolled 

The sun above the town, 
A shipwrecked sailor came and told 

Of how the ship went down. 

Then did I sudden understand 

The sobbing of the sea, 
And of that white ghost on the sand 

I knew the mystery. 



A BIRD'S ELEGY 

HE was the first to welcome Spring ; 
Adventurous, he came 
To wake the dreaming buds and sing 
The crocus into flame. 

He loved the morning and the dew ; 

He loved the sun and rain ; 
He fashioned lyrics as he flew 

With love for their refrain. 
[215] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Poet of vines and blossoms, he, 

Beloved of them all ; 
The timid leaves upon the tree 

Grew bold at his glad call. 

He sang the rapture of the hills, 
And from the starry height 

He brought the melody that fills 
The meadows with delight. 

And now, behold him dead, alas ! 

Where he made joy so long : 
A bit of blue amid the grass, — 

A tiny, broken song. 

SECRET 

SOFTLY the little wind goes by, 
A whisper, — nothing more ; 
Some message from the azure sky 
Brought down to earth's green door. 

Fragrant and fresh the wonder-word, 
But what it means, who knows ? 

Only the butterfly, the bird, 
The leaf, the grass and rose. 

Theirs the divine felicity, 

The gift of wisdom rare, 
The melody, the mystery, 

The secret of the air. 
[216] 



THE CHARM 



THE POET 



VOICE of the wind, of singing brook and bird, 
Dawn's message white and midnight's word, 
These secrets all belong 
Unto his song. 

For Nature to the poet's heart alone 
Makes her mysterious meanings known : 
He is her voice and her 
Interpreter ! 



THE CHARM 

SLIGHT is the thing it needs to wake 
The embers that have slumbered long 
Within the poet's heart, and make 
Them burn again with song. 

A rose, a star, a voice, a glance, 
Echo or glimpse, — it is the same : 

Some mystery of time or chance 
That finds the hidden flame. 

Embers of song and song's desire, 
Hushed in the singer's heart they lie, 

And softly kindle into fire 
If but a dream go by. 
[217] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

And none may say, since none can know, 
Whence comes the vivifying spark 

That sends a transitory glow 
Of song across the dark. 

It is a secret summons, such 

As comes unto the spray when spring 
Wakens the blossoms with a touch, 

That bids the poet, Sing ! 

HIS DESIRE 

OF all the threads of rhyme 
Which I have spun, 
I shall be glad if Time 
Save only one. 

And I would have each word 

To joy belong — 
A lyric like a bird 

Whose soul is song. 

There is enough of grief 

To mar the years ; 
Be mine a sunny leaf, 

Untouched by tears, 

To bring unto the heart 

Delight, and make 
All sorrows to depart, 

And joy to wake. 

[218] 



THE MUSE 

No sermon mine to preach, 

Save happiness ; 
No lesson mine to teach, 

Save joy to bless. 

Joy, 't is the one best thing 

Below, above: 
The lute's divinest string, 

Whose note is love. 



THE MUSE 

THE songs I make, they are not mine, 
They all belong to her 
Whose words in some strange way combine 
To set my heart astir. 

If but her eyes look down on me 

The while I pause to write, 
By some swift touch of sorcery 

The sombre lines grow bright. 

Her voice upon me lays a spell 

Of music soft and sweet ; 
Imperfectly, what she may tell, 

My lyrics but repeat. 

I am as one who hears the thrush 

In some leaf-covert dim, 
And in the intermittent hush 

Ponders the dew-fresh hymn : 
[ 219 1 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Or one who in a shadowed place 
Watches the stars agleam, 

And knows their beauty on his face 
Illumining his dream : 

Or one who catches from the rose 

A fragrant message sent 
From crimson lips, and straightway knows 

All of the Orient. 

Like these am I, and all my rhymes 

Are but the records clear 
That write themselves at magic times 

When she, the Muse, is near. 

For could I make my own her song, 

Unto the world I 'd give 
A lyric which should live as long 

As song itself shall live ! 

THE INTERPRETER 

NOT his alone the gift divine 
Who understands how, line by line, 
To re-create the dream with all 
Its wonder-world ethereal : 
Something of that same gift has he 
Who, reading, through the lines can see 
The dream itself, — the secret thing 
That stirred the poet's heart to sing. 
[ 220 ] 



HARRO 

HARRO 

THIS is brave Harro s story, 
Harro who watched the sea : 
To his renown I set it down 
As it was told to me. 

Back from the reef-caught vessel 
Came Harro's comrades four, 

And with them ten half-perished men, 
Safe landed on the shore. 

" And are these all ? " asked Harro. 

Answered the sailors brave : 
" Nay. One lashed high we left to die, 

And find an ocean grave." 

Cried Harro : " Who goes with me 

To rescue him, the last, 
Alive or dead ? Shall it be said 

We left one on the mast ? " 

Spoke up his gray-haired mother : 

" Oh, Harro boy, my son, 
Go not, I pray ! 'T is death they say, 

And there is only one ! 

" Father and brother Uwe 
The cruel sea hath slain. 
My last art thou. Good Harro, now 
Let me not plead in vain ! " 
[ 221 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Answered brave Harro : " Mother, 
Who knows, perchance for him 

Under the skies a mother's eyes 
To-day with tears grow dim. 

" Farewell ! God watches over 
The fields of flying foam, 
And He shall keep us on the deep, 
And safely bring us home." 

Wild was the storm-swept ocean, 

And like a fragile leaf 
The lifeboat tossed long ere it crossed 

Unto the distant reef. 

Wild was the sea, and madly 

Ever the tempest blew, 
While down the track came Harro back 

With one beside the crew. 

Hard to the oars his comrades 
Bent in the shrieking gale ; 

And Harro cried, when land he spied, 
" Thank God, we shall not fail ! " 

And when he saw his mother 

Pacing the shore in tears, 
Loud over all the storm his call 

Brought gladness to her ears. 

[ 222 ] 



WITH HERRICK 

Over and over he shouted, 
And high his cap he waved : 
11 God gives thee joy ! God sends thy boy ! 
'T is Uwe we have saved 1 " 

Such is brave Havre? s story, 
Harro who watched the sea : 

To his renown I set it down 
As it was told to me. 



WITH HERRICK 

IN the green woods is the brook, 
Like a lyric in his book, 
Singing as it slips along 
Tender strains of sylvan song. 
Carol of the thrush's throat 
Echoes in its liquid note ; 
Murmur of the woodland bee 
Haunts its drowsy melody ; 
And its music, soft and low, 
Mimics all the gales that go 
Whispering in boughs of green 
Spread above it like a screen. 
O'er its brink the lily, white 
As the risen moon at night, 
Leans in rapture, listening 
To the song it has to sing. 
Like a maiden who for love 
From her lattice leans above, 
[ 223 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Drinking in the song that slips 
Through the shadows from the lips 
Of her lover in the gloom, 
So above the brook this bloom 
Leans to hear the message sweet 
That her lover may repeat. 
Loitering beside the stream, 
Is it strange that I should dream — 
Dream of Herrick, and of Her 
For whose eyes his lyrics were ? 
Julia, — she this lily is, 
And the brook's songs all are his ! 

CANOE SONG 

GRACEFULEST of buoyant things, 
Wanting but the snowy wings 
Of your kin, the swan, to be 
Queen of both the sky and sea ; 
Softly down the tranquil stream, 
As through slumber glides a dream, 
With the current let us go 
Where the slim reeds, row on row, 
Make sweet music all day long, 
And the air is full of song. 

Silent as the red man, who 
Out of birch-bark fashioned you, 
Steal along and come upon 
Hosts of water-lilies wan 
[ 224 ] 



A GARLAND 

Suddenly, and bring surprise 
To their wonder-waking eyes ; 
Then be off again once more, 
Shadow-like, and haunt the shore, 
Gathering from bending grass 
Water secrets as you pass. 

On and on and on we drift 
Till the stars begin to sift 
Through the twilight and, on high, 
At her window in the sky 
Comes the Night's pale bride to hark 
For his message through the dark ; 
Till at last the silver sand 
Reaches down and bids us land, 
Then till dawn, farewell to you — 
Sister of the Swan — Canoe ! 



A GARLAND 

LET me a garland twine 
For poets nine, 
Whose verse 
I love best to rehearse. 

For each a laurel leaf, 
One stanza brief, 

I make 
memory's sweet sake. 
[ 225 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

First, then, Theocritus, 
Whose song for us 
Still yields 
The fragrance of the fields. 



'& j 



Next, Horace, singing yet 
Of love, regret, 
And flowers : 
This Roman rose is ours. 

Omar-Fitzgerald next, 
Within whose text 
There lies 
A charm to win the wise. 

Then Shakespeare, by whose light 
All poets write : 
The star, 
Whose satellites they are ! 

Herrick then let me name, 
Whose lyrics came 
Like birds 
To sing his happy words. 

Then Keats, whose jewel rhyme 
Shines for all time, 
To tell 
Of him the gods loved well. 
[ 226 ] 



A GARLAND 

Longfellow next I choose : 
For him the muse 
Held up 
Song's over-brimming cup. 

Next Tennyson, whose song, 
Still clear and strong, 
Soars high, 
Nearing each day the sky. 

Then Aldrich — like a thrush 
In the dawn's flush, 
Who sings 
With dew upon his wings. 

These are the nine, above 
Whose leaves I love 
To lean, 
My happiness to glean. 

Theirs are the books that hold 
Joy's clearest gold 
For me, 
Wrought into melody ; 

Theirs are the words to start 
Within my heart 
The fire 
Of song and song's desire ! 
[ 227 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 



A PRAYER 

IT is my joy in life to find 
At every turning of the road, 
The strong arm of a comrade kind 
To help me onward with my load. 

And since I have no gold to give, 
And love alone must make amends, 

My only prayer is, while I live, — 
God make me worthy of my friends ! 



ARBUTUS 

NATURE 

THE YEAR'S DAY 

AFTER the winter's night 
From the world is withdrawn, 
Out of the darkness gleams the light, — 
Spring — and the Year's fresh dawn. 

Blossom and leaf and bud, 

And the birds all in tune ; 
Then in a fragrant, golden flood, — 

Summer — the Year's glad noon. 

Crimson the roses blow, 

And the grove's breath is musk : 
Then to the Year the sunset glow, — 

Autumn — and hints of dusk. 

Glimmer the stars of frost, 

And the wind at the door 
Mournfully sings of something lost : — 

Winter — and night once more. 

ARBUTUS 

ALONG the woods' brown edge 
The wind goes wandering 
To find the first pink pledge — 
The hint of Spring. 
[ 229 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

The withered leaves around, 
She scatters every one, 

And gives to wintry ground 
A glimpse of sun. 

And to the woodland dumb 

And desolate so long 
She calls the birds to come 

With happy song. 

Then the arbutus ! This 

The pledge, the hint she sought, 
The blush, the breath, the kiss, — 

Spring's very thought I 



VIOLET 

IN this white world of wonder 
All wrapt in silence deep, 
Shut in her palace under 

The snow she lies asleep ; 
And she shall only waken 

When lyrics sweet and clear 
Out of the trees are shaken, 
And April's here. 

Glimpses of grass and gleams of 
The golden sunlight bring 

Visions of joy and dreams of 
The miracle of Spring : 
[230] 



APRIL 

She sees the shining faces 
Of buds and leaves appear, 

Lighting the shadowed spaces 
With April's here! 

Then, O the nameless rapture 

Of that warm touch at last, 
When April comes to capture 

And hold her fragrance fast ! 
The dream of winter broken, 

Behold her, blue and dear, 
Shy Violet, sure token 

That April 's here ! 



APRIL 

AFTER the silence long 
On valley and hill, 
Listen, — again the song 
Of the silver rill ! 

Vanishes from the plains 
The prison of snow ; 

Broken the crystal chains, 
And the captives go ; 

Over the Winter's tomb 
The bird in its mirth 

Carols of bud and bloom 
To the barren earth ; 
[ 231 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Tremble the vines and trees 

With ecstasy then, 
Hearing the lisping breeze 

Hint of Spring again. 

Mystery fills the air, 

And melody sweet 
Follows the pathways where 

Glimmer Spring's white feet. 

Over the meadow's floor 

She hastens, and — see ! 
April is at the door 

With her golden key. 

MAY MORNING 

WHAT magic flutes are these that make 
Sweet melody at dawn, 
And stir the dewy leaves to shake 
Their silver on the lawn ? 

What miracle of music wrought 

In shadowed groves is this ? 
All ecstasy of sound upcaught, — 

Song's apotheosis ! 

The dreaming lilies lift their heads 

To listen and grow wise ; 
The fragrant roses from their beds 

In sudden beauty rise : 
[ 232 ] 



HONEYSUCKLES 

Enraptured, on the eastern hill, 

A moment, halts the sun I 
Day breaks ; and all again is still : 

The thrushes' song is done ! 

HONEYSUCKLES 

WITHIN a belfry built of bloom, 
Above the garden wall they swing ; 
A chime of bells for winds to ring, 
Of mingled music and perfume. 

What scented syllables of song 

Throughout the day their tongues repeat ! 

They tempt with promise, honey-sweet, 
The listener to linger long. 

A bit of sunset cloud astray, 

The dappled butterfly floats near, 
Lured by the fragrant music clear, 

Trembles with joy, then fades away. 

And thither oft, from time to time, 
The humming-bird and golden bee 
List, and go mad with melody, — 

The honey-music of the chime. 

And thither when the silver gleam 
Of moon and stars is over all, 
One white moth hovers near the wall, — 

A ghost to haunt the garden's dream ! 
[ 233 1 



LYRICS OF JOY 



WINTER DREAMS 

DEEP lies the snow on wood and field ; 
Gray stretches overhead the sky ; 
The streams, their lips of laughter sealed, 
In silence wander slowly by. . 

Earth slumbers, and her dreams, — who knows 
But they may sometimes be like ours ? 

Lyrics of spring in winter's prose 

That sing of buds and leaves and flowers ; 

Dreams of that day when from the south 
Comes April, as at first she came, 

To hold the bare twig to her mouth 
And blow it into fragrant flame. 

WHITE MAGIC 

WHEN Winter hushes for a time 
The music of the sylvan brook, 
And shuts its witchery of rhyme 
In her white book, 

The world is not yet dumb ; 
For in the snow-hung vines and trees 
With their cold blossoms, icy clear, 
Invisible the winds like bees 
Swarm, and I hear 

Their weird and wizard hum. 
[ 234 1 



FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW 

Such is the magic wand she wields 

That she can shape my fancy so 
My dreams are all of fragrant fields 

The wild bees know 

In summer's golden noon ; 
And through the dull December hours 

Mine is the month for which I long, — 
The barren branch grows bright with flowers 

Where the bees throng, — 

White magic, — winter June ! 



FOOTPRINTS IN THE SNOW 

WORN is the winter rug of white, 
And in the snow-bare spots once more 
Glimpses of faint green grass in sight, — 
Spring's footprints on the floor. 

Upon the sombre forest gates 

A crimson flush the mornings catch, 

The token of the Spring who waits 
With finger on the latch. 

Blow, bugles of the south, and win 

The warders from their dreams too long, 

And bid them let the new guest in 
With her glad hosts of song. 

She shall make bright the dismal ways 

With broideries of bud and bloom, 

I 235 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

With music fill the nights and days 
And end the garden's gloom. 



Her face is lovely with the sun ; 

Her voice — ah, listen to it now! 
The silence of the year is done : 

The bird is on the bough ! 

Spring here, — by what magician's touch ? 

*T was winter scarce an hour ago. 
And yet I should have guessed as much, — 

Those footprints in the snow ! 



NANTUCKET 

DEAR old Nantucket's isle of sand 
An ancient exile from the Land, — 
Free from the devastating hand 

Of pomp and pillage, 
I find it year by year with all 
Its white-winged fleet of cat-boats small 
Guarding what Fancy loves to call 
The violet village. 

The yellow cliffs, the houses white, 
The wind-mill with its wheel in sight, 
The church spire and the beacons bright, 
All bunched together ; 
[236] 



NANTUCKET 

How picturesque they are ! How fair ! 
And, O how fragrant is the air, 
With pink wild-roses everywhere, 
And purple heather ! 

Half foreign seems the little town, — 
The narrow streets, the tumble-down 
And rotting wharves whose past renown 

Is linked with whalers, — 
The roofs with Look-outs whence they saw 
In bygone days the big ships draw 
Homeward with oil, and watched with awe 

The sea-worn sailors : 

Half foreign, but the better half 
Is like the flag that from the staff 
Flings out its welcome, starry laugh, — 

Native completely ; 
The shops, the schools, the zigzag lines 
Of shingled dwellings hung with vines, 
And gardens wrought in quaint designs 

And smelling sweetly. 

Here one may wander forth and meet 
Skippers of eighty years whose feet 
Find youth yet in the paven street; 

And if one hunger 
For yarns of wrecks and water lore, 
Pass the tobacco round once more, 
And hear what happened long before, 

When he was younger. 
[ 237 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Enchanting tales of wind and wave, 
Witty, pathetic, gay and grave, — 
One listens in the merman's cave 

Enraptured, breathless, 
While from the gray, bewhiskered lips 
Come stories of the sea and ships ; 
The careful skipper never skips 

The legends deathless. 

Then out again, and let us go 

Where fresh and cool the breezes blow 

Over the dunes of Pocomo, 

Where bird and berry 
Conspire to lure us on until, 
Over the gently sloping hill, 
We see Wauwinet, white and still 

And peaceful very. 

Here is the ending of the quest ; 
Here, on this Island of the Blest, 
Is found at last the Port of Rest, — 

Remote, romantic : 
A land-flower broken from the stem, 
And few indeed there be of them 
Fitted so perfectly to gem 

The blue Atlantic. 

Dreamy, delicious, drowsy, dull, — 
A poppy-island beautiful ; 
And there are poppies here to cull 
Until the plunder 
[238 J 



NANTUCKET 

Provokes the soul to sleep and dream 
Amid the glamour and the gleam, 
And makes the world about us seem 
A world of wonder 1 



LYRICS OF JOY 

LOVE 

TO JULIET 

( Cum regnat rosa) 

HEEDLESS how it may fare with Time, 
I send you here a rose of rhyme : 
Its fragrance, love; its color, one 
Caught from Hope's ever-constant sun ; 
Upon each leaf a lyric writ — 
Your eyes alone may witness it ; 
And in its heart for you to see 
Another heart — the heart of me. 

All roses are as fitly worn 

By you as by your sister Morn, 

Since you, like Morn, fail not to give 

New beauty to them while they live. 

If this against your bosom rest 

One brief, sweet hour its life were blest ; 

Then, should you chance to cast it by, 

It would not find it hard to die. 

So take this bloom of love and song, 
And, be its life or brief or long, 
Know that for you the petals part, 
Disclosing all its lyric heart ; 
For you its fragrant breaths are drawn ; 
For you its color — love's glad dawn; 
[ 240 ] 



ROSE LORE 

And for you, too, the heart that goes 
Song-prisoned in this rhyme of rose ! 



ROSE LORE 

NOW since it knows 
My heart so well, 
Would that this rose 
Might speak and tell ! 

You could not scorn 
Its winsome grace, 

The blush of morn 
Upon its face. 

Unto your own 

You needs must press 
The sweet mouth prone 

To tenderness ; 

Then, lip to lip, 

With rapture stirred, 
You might let slip 

The secret word, 

With fragrant kiss 

Interpreting 
The dream of bliss 

The rose would bring. 
[241 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Then to your breast 

Take it to be 
Your own heart's best 

Love-augury, — 
A welcome guest, — 

To gladden me. 

THE BOWER OF CUPID 

WHOSO enters at this portal 
Shall find Love the one immortal. 
Green the grove that hides the grotto 
Over which is hung this motto ; 
Broidered paths of bloom and berry 
Lead unto the monarch merry ; 
Birds above on leafy branches 
Loosen lyric avalanches ; 
Bees go singing in the sunny, 
Blossom-builded haunts of honey ; 
Flutes of brooks and lutes of grasses 
Waken with each wind that passes ; 
All is fragrance, song and joy, 
Made for one immortal boy ! 

Many seek this grotto hidden ; 
Welcome all, and none forbidden. 
Soft the air and clear as amber ; 
Round the gate red roses clamber ; 
Day long, mirth and music fill it ; 
Night sends moon and star to thrill it. 
[ 242 ] 



THE BOWER OF CUPID 

Voices, visions, dreams of rapture, 
There await, the heart to capture ; 
Full it is of faultless faces — 
All the Muses and the Graces ; 
Poem, picture, flower and fancy, 
Every form of necromancy ; 
Naught to worry or annoy, 
Save the one immortal boy ! 

In this grotto lies the golden 
Guest-book, full of legends olden, 
Writ by lovers on its pages 
Since the daybreak of the ages ; 
Paris, Helen, Petrarch, Laura, 
Meleager, Heliodora, 
All the glorious Amante 
Sung of old by Tuscan Dante, 
Names that shine in song and story 
Crowd this volume with their glory, - 
Tokens left by all the lovers 
In the world, between the covers ; 
Yet the record cannot cloy 
Love, the one immortal boy. 

Eve in Eden, fresh and pearly, 
Found on Earth this grotto early ; 
So, it came forever after 
To be haunted by her laughter. 
What a countless throng have tasted 
Love therein ere life was wasted ! 
[ 243 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Blind they call the boy, in kindness, 
Yet is theirs the only blindness. 
He is sure of ear and vision," 
Hearts he matches with precision ; 
That is Cupid's only duty 
In this bower of bliss and beauty — 
That the end of all employ 
Is for one immortal boy ! 



MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC 

DEAR Heart, do you remember 
That summer by the sea, 
One blue night in September 

When you were here with me, 
How like a pearl uplifted 
The full moon rose and drifted, 
And how the shadows shifted 
Until the stars were free ? 



Along the beach the breakers 

Brought in their lavish store, 
Gathered from ocean acres, 

And strewed the curving shore ; 
Grasses that gleamed and glistened, 
Flowers that the sea had christened, 
Shells at whose lips you listened 
To learn their wonder-lore. 
[ 244 1 



MOONLIGHT AND MUSIC 

Softly the breeze blew over 

From groves and gardens fair, 
Spilling a scent of clover 

Into the balmy air ; 
The breath of pines around us, 
Fragrant it came and found us 
Just as the moonlight crowned us 
And Love at last came there. 

What music hailed our rapture ! 

What singers on the sand 
Were they whose hearts could capture 

Our joy and understand? 
O Wind and Wave, they guessed it, 
They sang it and confessed it, — 
Their love and ours, — and blessed it 

There on the moonlit strand 1 

Dear Heart, still sweet the story, 
For all the years gone by : 

Still floods the moon with glory 
The land, the sea, the sky ; 

And still the night-moth hovers 

Around us and discovers 

The same devoted lovers, — 
Wind, Wave, and You and I. 



[245] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

IN ABSENCE 

IT matters not how far I fare, 
f Or in what land I bide, 
Your voice sings ever on the air, 
Your face shines at my side. 

For me each crimson flower that slips 

Its velvet sheath of green 
Yields the remembrance of your lips 

With all their sweets between. 

Your hair is in the dusk that lies 

Around me when I rest ; 
My only stars are your dear eyes, 

Love's own and loveliest. 

Happy am I, though far apart 
From all that makes life dear : 

Love dwells contented in my heart, 
Exiled yet always near. 

Then take my message, Sweet, and know 

How far your love has flown 
To cheer and bless your lover, so 

Lonely, but not alone : 

I send it from the drowsy South, 

A dream of my delight, 
A message to your rosebud mouth — 

A kiss, and a good-night ! 



TO HER 

FOR MUSIC 

LOVE'S SPRINGTIDE 

MY heart was winter-bound until 
I heard you sing : 
O voice of Love, hush not> but fill 
My life with Spring ! 

My hopes were homeless things before 

I saw your eyes : 
O smile of Love, close not the door 

To paradise ! 

My dreams were bitter once, and then 

I found them bliss : 
O lips of Love, give me again 

Yotcr rose to kiss ! 

Springtide of love ! The secret sweet 

Is ours alone : 
heart of Love, at last yon beat 

Against my own ! 

TO HER 

MY songs are all for her 
Whose love I fain would win : 
Each to her heart, a wanderer, 
Goes singing : Let me in ! 

[247] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

Her eyes my beacons be, 
Her lips my rosy guides, 

And in her heart a melody 
For every word abides. 

Be brave, be brave, my song, 
Nor falter in the quest : 

Love in her heart has waited long 
To greet the singing guest. 

And be it yours to know 
The latch lift on the door ; 

Once in her heart — Go, lyric, go ! 
Be hers for evermore ! 



MY APRIL 

SWEETHEART, comes laughing April now 
To right the Winter's wrong ; 
And back to the forsaken bough 
The bluebird comes with song : 
And, rivals of the stars above, 
Stars in the grass you see ; 
So, like your namesake, April, Love — 
My April, come to me ! 

She brings the blossom to the vine, 

A token fresh and new ; 
She fills the crocus cup with wine, 

A pledge that she is true ; 
[ 248 ] 



A MAY MADRIGAL 

She sends the sunshine after rain, 

A golden augury : 
Sweetheart, and must I plead in vain ? 

My April, come to me ! 

Oh, Winter lies upon my heart 

A dreariness and woe : 
It needs but your dear smile to start 

The buds of hope to blow ; 
It needs but your sweet lips to bring 

The message that shall be 
Like April's own, all love and Spring : 

My April, come to me ! 

A MAY MADRIGAL 

SWEETHEART, the buds are on the tree, 
The birds are back once more, 
And with their songs they call to me 

To open wide my door : 
So wide shall stand the door to-day 

Because my heart is true 
To bud and bird, to mirth and May, 
And, most of all, to You ! 

Sweetheart, the leaves begin to show, 

The grass is green again, 
And on the breeze sweet odors blow 

From wild flowers in the glen : 
The world is glad with voice and wing, 

And all the skies are blue ; 
[ 249 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

The scent, the song, the soul of Spring, 
I find them all in You ! 



Sweetheart, the snows have gone, and now 

It is the mating time. 
Hark to the lover on the bough, 

What melody sublime ! 
What ecstasy of passion, pride, 

And love and rapture, too ! 
So door and heart stand open wide 

To welcome May and You ! 



NOCTURNE 

ABOVE the sea in splendor 
The new moon hangs alone, 
A silver crescent slender 
Set in a sapphire zone ; 
Around me breathe the tender, 
Sweet zephyrs of the south : 
Night will not let 
My heart forget 
Her kisses and her mouth. 

The loose sails idly swinging, 
The ship lights' glow and gleam, 

The bell-buoys' muffled ringing, 
Drive all my thoughts to dream, - 

To dream of her voice singing 
[ 250 J 



MEMORIES 

The songs I love the best : 

Night will not let 

My heart forget 
Where she has made her nest ! 

O Love, where art thou biding 

While hangs this moon on high ? 
Star in the twilight hiding, 

Come forth and light the sky 
Above the ship slow gliding 
Over the southern sea : 
Night will not let 
My heart forget 
Love's eyes that shine for me ! 

MEMORIES 

AS Love and I went walking 
Along the sea's gray shore, 
We heard the green waves talking, 
And love was all their lore. 

The purple shadows shifted, 
And through the twilight long 

From singing stars there drifted 
Our sweet betrothal song. 

But once, in days long after, 
We walked there, Love and I ; 

The waves had lost their laughter, 
The stars were hushed on high. 
[251 I 



LYRICS OF JOY 

And each remembered only 
A little voice — oh, years, 

How long they are, and lonely ! 
Oh, heart, how full of tears ! 

A SONG'S ECHO 

MY Love is like a Winter rose 
That sweetly blooms alone, 
That has of rivals none, and knows 
A beauty all her own. 

My Love is like a tender tune 

That wakens tender words, 
And fills December full of June, 

And brings again the birds. 

Her smile, my sun ; her voice, my song ; 

Her face, my flower of bliss ; 
Oh, who could find the Winter long 

With such a Love as this ! 



WITH ROSES 

HERE are roses red, 
For their fragrance love them 
When you bend your head 

Tenderly above them, 
To your own lips, sweet, 
Lift them up and hold them 
[ 252 1 



TWO SONGS 

While their lips repeat 

What my heart has told them. 

Grant them of your grace, 

With your beauty bless them, 
Fold them to your face, 

Kiss them, and caress them. 
Brief their day, and so 

Only gladness give them, 
Yours the joy to know 

Love that shall outlive them 



TWO SONGS 



HER greeting is a dulcet bell — 
Love's daybreak and delight ; 
Her smile is noon, and her farewell 

Leads in the stars at night. 
She is the sunrise and the gleam 

Of dew upon the rose, 
The vision that evokes the dream, 
The song in slumber's prose.j 

ii 

Roses are the rhymes T wreathe — 

Take them, every one ; 
Love — the fragrance that you breathe, 

And your smile their sun. 

i I 253 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 

When the petals fall apart, 

Then in melody, 
You shall read a rose's heart, 

And the heart of me. 



SURF MUSIC 

SONNETS 

SAINT ROSE 

DEAR Rose, what volumes it would need to hold 
The songs that poets have been fain to sing 
In praise of you, — the ruby in June's ring, 
Jewel of fragrance set in summer's gold ! 
What tender words of worship, since of old 
In Eden Love first found you blossoming, 
Have blest your beauty, hoping so to bring 
A touch of warmth unto a bosom cold ! 

Poets and Lovers there shall ever be 

So long as there are gardens where the vine 

Builds a green temple of felicity 

Within whose leaves is found your fragrant shrine. 

O sweet Saint Rose ! Dear flower of melody, — 
A lover's token, take this song of mine. 



SURF MUSIC 

ALL day I hear along the sandy shore 
The melancholy music of the Sea ; 
The green-robed choir of Ocean sing to me, 
Chanting the legends of their ancient lore. 
[255I 



LYRICS OF JOY 

I hear the tales of mariners of yore, 

Of ships gone down, of tempests blowing free ; 

I hear the mast, remembering the tree, 
Grieve for the grove and all its leaves once more. 

But when night comes and in the deep blue sky- 
Gather the stars above the fields of foam, 

The music changes, and in fancy I 
Again the old familiar forests roam 

And hear the mast's companions as they cry : 

Blow, Wind, and bring our captive brother home ! 



TO A MOCKING BIRD 

THOU feathered minstrel perched in yonder tree, 
Thou bird-magician in a blue-gray coat, 
Trickster of tune, thou canst repeat by rote 
Thy rivals' songs and win their loves to thee ! 
Song-sorcerer, who canst with melody 

Lure us to listen ; thou whose slender throat 
Is full of magic, bubbling note by note; 
Mimic of music, sing thou on to me ! 

Chatter of blackbird, warble of the wren, 
Joy of the jay, and passion of the thrush, 
And every trill that ever bird has known — 
I heard him jesting for a while ; and then, 
Softly upon the morning in a gush 
Of lyric love I heard him call his own. 
[ 256 ] 



THE SHOWER 



MUSIC 



IN vain the quest : no mortal eyes may know 
The secret haunt wherein by day and night 
She shapes her dreams of audible delight 
And sends them forth to wander to and fro : 
Spirits of Sound, invisible they go 

To fill the world with wonder in their flight ; 
Celestial voices, from whose starry height 
Strange hints of song steal down to earth below. 

Listen and hear the rhythmic echoes fall, — 
The winds and waves and leaves and bees and 
birds, — 
The blended harmony of reeds and strings, — 
Chorus and orchestra, — the voice and all 
The miracle of melody and words, — 

Music herself it is who dreams and sings ! 

THE SHOWER 

HOUR after hour relentlessly the sun 
Shriveled the leaves and parched the 
meadow grass : 
The sky was yellow and like molten brass 
The heat poured down until the day was done. 
Red the round moon arose, and one by one 
Blossomed the stars and in the river's glass 
Beheld their beauty, but the breeze, alas ! 
Refused to break the web the spider spun. 
[ 257 1 



LYRICS OF JOY 

But with the dawn a little cloud drew near, 
Leading a host forth on the azure plain. 

A distant rumble, then a forest cheer, 

And then a gust that whirled the weather-vane ; 

And then, at last, — O melody most dear I 
The soft alliteration of the rain. 

THE WINTER POOL 

DEEP in the woods, amid the giant trees 
It lies alone within an open space, 
Beloved in summer by the sylvan race* 
Of God's best poets — birds and golden bees ; 
Diana's mirror, full of memories 

Of all the nameless wonder of her face, 
And of the myriad jewel-stars that grace 
Orion's glory and the Pleiades. 

Behold it now, all ghostly white and still, 
Shut in the shadow of the ice and snow, 
A solitary, sad, forsaken thing ; 
Bereft of beauty, marred and dark until 1 
Diana comes again and looks to know 

Her luring smile — the loveliness of Spring ! 

BETRAYAL 

THERE came a day in winter when the sun 
Reached down and swept the world all clean of 
snow ; 
When captive streams long hushed in icy woe 
[258] 



THE SNOW'S DREAMER 

Escaped with song again to dance and run :; 

Between the purple hills the vales were spun 
With silver mist, and, dreaming in the glow, 
The trees and vines were tremulous as though 

They felt the buds unfolding one by one. 

Just for a day this glamour touched the dearth 
And dreariness of life, — one vision brief 

Of joy that lit the sorrow of the earth, — 
Then passed, and with it hope went and belief : 

So Love once came and with a voice of mirth 
Betrayed my heart and left it dumb with grief. 

THE SNOW'S DREAMER 

ASLEEP within her marble room she lies, 
And dreams of days to come when she shall go 
Across the meadows in the morning glow, 
Song on her lips, and gladness in her eyes : 
In dreams she sees again the warm, blue skies, 

And breathes the fragrance which the soft gales 

blow 
From trees whose blossoms, like belated snow, 
Have filled the orchards with a sweet surprise. 

So shall she dream, and slumber on until 

The first faint whispers of the south wind bring 
The shy anemones, all white with fear, 
To look upon her in her chamber still ; 

Then, waking, hear the bluebird blithely sing 
To welcome in the Daybreak of the Year ! 
[ 259 1 



LYRICS OF JOY 
, THE CATHEDRAL BELLS 

(Old Spanish Cathedral, St. Augustine, Florida) 

HIGH in the old cathedral tower they hung, — 
Four ancient bells, the bronze arpeggio 
That called to prayer the gray monks long ago, 
And marked the hour while mass was said and sung. 
Over a land of fragrant flowers they flung 
Petals of music that were wont to blow 
Out of the rose of Time, whereof we know 
Naught save how sweet it is and ever young. 

Listen ! across the midnight comes their call, — 
Twelve in succession sound the bell-notes clear : 
A day has gone ; another day, begun. 
Awake, I hear them saying as they fall : 
Vale, Hispania ! Day of shadows drear ! 
Ave, America / Day of joy and sun ! 



STARLIGHT 

QUATRAINS 

DAWN 

OUT of the scabbard of the night, 
By God's hand drawn, 
Flashes his shining sword of light, 
And lo, — the dawn ! 

STORM 

IN the black jungle of the sky now wakes' 
The Lightning's writhing brood of fiery snakes, 
And lion Thunder from his lair of cloud 
Startles the dusky world with challenge loud. 

DUSK 

UP from the underworld the shadows crowd 
And ply with noiseless fingers at the loom 
Whereon they weave the star-embroidered cloud 
That screens the door of Day's new-builded tomb. 

, STARLIGHT 

OVER the rim, a fiery ball, 
God's hand the golden sun lets fall ; 
Then from the blue deeps of the skies 
The myriad white bubbles rise. 
[261 ] 



LYRICS OF JOY 



A SEA FANCY 



THE bugling winds their solemn dirges blow 
Across a dreary waste of foam-white waves. 
Here is the ocean cemetery. Lo, 
The phantom head-stones of the myriad graves ! 



MASTERY 

STROLLING along the granite coast I caught 
From lips invisible this message clear : — 
Without my strength the oceans rage were naught y 
And I am but the whisper in thine ear ! 



DERELICT 

FAR in the distance looms a ship's dark hull, 
Aimlessly tossing on an angry sea ; 
And, circling round, one solitary gull, — 
White ponderer of this black mystery ! 



FOG 

IN agony of death throughout the night 
The frenzied monarch tossed upon his bed 
Whence rose at dawn, mysterious and white, 
A ghost, — the spectre of the mighty dead. 
[ 262 ] 



KNOWLEDGE 



THE PENALTY 



IMPLACABLE and stern, the captive, Hate, 
In silence sits, too anger-blind to see 
Love's shining figure at his prison gate, 
Longing to hear him bid her turn the key. 



LIFE 

LAUNCHED in the darkness on an unknown sea, 
A plaything of the winds and waves, I drift, 
And ponder what the shores of Life may be — 
What harbor welcome when the shadows lift. 



THE GOAL 

CREEDS for the credulous ; but as for me, 
I choose to keep a mind alert and free. 
Not Faith but Truth I set me for a goal : 
Toward that shining mark God speed thee, Soul ! 



KNOWLEDGE 

FOR all Philosophy may teach, 
Only so far can Knowledge reach : 
All that we know from breath to breath 
Is Life and its great question — Death. 
[263] 



LYRICS OF JOY 



IN A GARDEN 

THROUGHOUT the long, enchanted summer 
hours, 
In treasuries of honey-wealth untold, 
Here in their bright metropolis of flowers 
The banker bees are busy with their gold. 

IVY 

UPON the walls the graceful Ivy climbs 
And wraps with green the ancient ruin gray : 
Romance it is, and these her leafy rhymes 
Writ on the granite page of yesterday. 



GRASS 

HERE is the cloth whereon the dew and sun 
Fashion their bright embroideries of bloom ; 
For dreams a pillow, and, when dreams are done, 
A fragrant cover for the dreamless tomb. 



ROSE 

SCREENING her face of loveliness behind 
The garden's leafy curtain, waits the Rose 
For the enamored Nightingale to find 
A lyric hidden in his book of prose. 
[264] 



WRIT IN WATER 



DAY DREAM 



INTO the slumber of the Day there came 
The vision of a spirit winged with flame, 
And down the fragrant air one butterfly — 
Her golden dream — sailed indolently by. 



FIRE FANCIES 

DEEP in the ashes one live ember 
Lingers two similes to show : 
June in the arms of old December, 
A red rose in a drift of snow. 



CITY SPARROWS 

WITHIN the stone Sahara of the Town 
A green oasis lies the open Square : 
Hark to the noisy caravans of brown, 
Intrepid Sparrows, — Arabs of the air ! 



WRIT IN WATER 

RIVER or sea, the voice is still the same, 
Each curving water-lip the word repeats, 
Forever rumoring the poet's name, 
And murmuring melodiously — Keats. 
[265] 



LYRICS OF JOY 



CONTRAST 



CAUGHT in a crevice of the marble tomb, 
A fragile plant uplifts its hand of bloom, 
And poised thereon a butterfly takes breath : 
Fantastic fellowship of Life and Death ! 



A WISH 

THIS be my wish : let all my lines 
Across the pages run like vines ; 
The words, their shining blossoms be ; 
The book, a field of melody. 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 



THE LOOM OF SONG 

CARESSED by balmy gales that gently blow 
O'er tropic seas and fields of fragrant bloom, 
She sits before the quaint, ancestral loom 
And weaves the fabric faultlessly and slow : 
Amid the threads like flowers her fingers go 
Until she almost breathes the faint perfume 
Distilled in Araby in twilight's gloom 
In gardens where the sweetest roses grow. 

So, on the Loom of Song, the poet weaves 
New fabrics from the threads of old romance 
And fashions fancies into figured rhyme, 
And all about him scattered shreds he leaves 
To be another's bright inheritance : 

Thus, ever, Song goes hand in hand with Time ! 



ECHO 

HOMELESS is she, forever wandering 
Among the hills and in the solitudes 
Of forests where no voice of man intrudes, 
In whose deep stillness birds forget to sing : 
[269] 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

She haunts the waterfalls, — a hidden thing 
That in the clouds of mist above them broods, 
And she it is whose dreamy interludes 

Murmur the secret of the woodland spring. 

Sister to Silence ! Shadow of a sound ! 
Mirage of music ! Soul of melody 

Escaped and ever seeking realms of rest ! 
Mimic of brook-songs ! Ghosts of the profound 
And awe-inspiring ocean harmony ! 

Echo 1 — Alas, she mocks me in my quest ! 



THE BROOK ACCOMPANIMENT 

WHAT joy to rest beside the brook that goes 
Singing along through grass and tangled 
brush, — 
A strain of music in the meadow's hush, — 
A lyric gladdening the woodland's prose, — 
A voice that burdens every breeze that blows 
With mellow melody or gleeful rush 
Of rhythmic rapture stolen from the thrush, — 
Nymph of the woods, whose every note she knows ! 

Here on the moss, leaf -sheltered from the sun, 
Where I can breathe the fragrance of the trees, 
I come to sit and read my poet's book ; — 
To read and listen to the water run, 

Matching the poet's words with melodies — 
Fantastic obligatos of the brook ! 
[ 270 ] 



THE FORTRESS OF SAN MARCO 



MOONLIGHT 

A CUP of emerald, the valley, dim 
With purple shadows, lies between the hills ; 
Across the silence, from the lyric rills 
Is breathed the music of their vesper hymn. 
Slowly the moon uplifts above the rim, — 
A snow-like lily from whose chalice spills 
A silver light whose soft enchantment fills 
The valley-cup with beauty to its brim. 

O mystery and wonder of the night ! 

O loveliness of moonlight and the gleam 
Of myriad stars that are the blossoms white 

Adrift and blown adown an azure stream ! 
O miracle of rapture and delight, 

Transforming all the world into a dream ! 



THE FORTRESS OF SAN MARCO 

GRAY as the gulls above, San Marco lies, 
Builded by Spain three centuries ago; 
A star of stone — a star whose gleam and glow 
Are gone forever, blotted from our skies. 
Bastion and battlement before me rise 

Storied with memories of war's grim woe, 
But over them, in balmy gales that blow, 
Triumphantly the flag of freedom flies. 
[ 271 ] 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

Along the ramparts now the lizards crawl, 

Or lazily lie basking in the sun ; 
Beyond the moat the sea-tides lift and fall ; 

And while I dream of battles lost and won — 
Sudden a voice ! — and then I see him, small, — 

A Yankee bugler on a Spanish gun ! 

THE FAMILIAR MELODY 

ECHOES of song, ethereal they are ; 
Across the stillness of the summer night 
Some spirit of sweet melody takes flight 
And brings to earth the message of a star : 
So faint the fairy notes, the leaf-lisps mar 

The whispered dream of this enamored sprite. 
Softly, once more, O murmur of delight ! 
O breathed bliss of music from afar ! 

In through my window comes the wanderer, 
And memories that have been sleeping long 
In the oblivion of bygone years 
Awake, and I am listening to her 

Whose voice made all my boyhood glad with song ; 
Almost I see her through the welling tears. 

TWILIGHT 

THE sunset fades, and once again the hills 
Against the sky, majestic and supreme, 
Loom spectrally and half unreal seem, 
And mystery the misty valley fills. 
[ 272 ] 



ROMANCE 

Melodiously now the mountain rills, 

Unheard by day, take up their lyric theme 
Of ecstasy, like voices heard in dream, — 

An obligato to the whippoor wills. 

Invisible, the spirits of the dusk 

Ply the swift shuttles on their shadow loom 
And weave the wonder-fabric of the night : 
The wind is but a whisper, sweet with musk 
Exhaled from fragrant lips of bud and bloom, 
A whisper — and the cfrie word is Delight ! 



ROMANCE 

IN quiet splendor fell the Southern night, 
And wrapt in dusk the little city lay, 
Drowsing, and dreaming of another day 
When Dawn should bring again its joy and light. 
Above it hung the new moon's crescent bright, 
And myriad stars along the sky's blue way 
Gathered to wonder at their rivals gay, 
That twinkled o'er the Plaza's pavements white. 

Idly I sauntered in the fragrant gloom, 
Under the lisping palms, and found the street 
Where hung the balcony, cage-like, above. 
Behind those bars I saw a girl's face bloom, 
And heard another Juliet repeat 

To me, her Romeo, her words of love. 
[ 273 ] 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 



BROADWAY AT MIDNIGHT 

THE theaters are out, and on Broadway 
Assembles now the midnight's motley show — 
A moving panorama in the glow 
Of myriad lamps that make a mimic day. 
Here Wealth and Poverty together stray ; 

Here Virtue walks with Vice, and does not know ; 
And ever up and down the pavements go 
The tireless actors of an endless play. 

Serene above this busy whirl of life, 
This human comedy, this rush and roar 
And turmoil of interminable cars, 
Like mute spectators of our mortal strife, 
From their blue balconies forevermore 
Look down in beauty the immortal stars ! 



THE END OF AUTUMN 

WHAT fires are kindled in the autumn's urn ! 
With leaping flames of purple, red and gold 
The mountains tremble, and the frost fires cold 
In multitudinous meadow lanterns burn. 
Dust is the rose's heart. The birds return 

Southward with song. The summer's tale is told ; 
And in the silence now the Year, grown old, 
Awaits contentedly the end to learn. 
[274] 



THE LONELY ROOM 

The streams pour forth their sorrow as they go, 
Soft-footed, down the grove's forsaken nave ; 

Musician winds their solemn trumpets blow, 
Rustling the leaf -hung frieze and architrave ; 

And far away in shining fields of snow 

Winter is busy with the Year's white grave. 



THE LONELY ROOM 

LOVE, how I miss you in this little room ! 
Day were not darker by the sun unblest. 
The bird has flown and left an empty nest 
Where all is silence and unbroken gloom. 
It is a garden whence the light of bloom 
Is faded out ; a bower, the loneliest, 
Bereft of beauty and the happy guest 
Whose voice was music, and whose breath, perfume. 

Delay not, Sweet ; absence already long 
Burdens my heart with such a grievous pain 
Hourly it seems that it must yield or break. 
Beloved, hasten back and bring the song, 
The sunlight, blossoms, and the old refrain 
Of ecstasy — heart-ease to end heart-ache ! 



[ 275 1 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

ON A BRONZE MEDAL OF LINCOLN 
BY VICTOR D. BRENNER 

THIS bronze our Lincoln's noble head doth bear. 
Behold the strength and splendor of that face, 
So homely -beautiful, with just a trace 
Of humor lightening its look of care ! 
With bronze indeed his memory doth share, 
This martyr who found freedom for a Race ; 
Both shall endure beyond the time and place 
That knew them first, and brighter grow with wear. 

Happy must be the genius here that wrought 
These features of the great American 

Whose fame lends so much glory to our past — 
Happy to know the inspiration caught 
From this most human and heroic man 

Lives here to honor him while Art shall last. 

FOR POPPIES 

THEY have the scarlet of her lips 
Who gathered them for me ; 
The pink of her fair finger-tips 
Upon their leaves I see. 

Within their hearts, so it is said, 
Is hidden that which brings 

The drooping lid, the drowsy head, 
And such somnolent things. 
[276] 



. GYPSY 

Dear flowers of Sleep, if this be so, 
Grant me one joy supreme : 

In slumber her sweet face to know — 
A poppy, and a dream ! 



GYPSY 

A VAGABOND, I roam at will, 
Where fancy leads I follow ; 
Now with the stars upon the hill, 
And now companion of the rill 
That murmurs in the hollow. 

All roads are mine, all paths I take, 

With staff and scrip beside me ; 
On the green moss my bed I make, 
And at the bird's first call I wake, 
Before the sun has spied me. 

The friend of sylvan folk am I ; 

The leaves and ferns and grasses 
To all my questions make reply, 
And there 's no winged thing too shy 

To greet me as it passes. 

Sunshine or shower, I little care 
About the skies above me ; 

My gypsy mood makes all things fair; 

I am too gay to court despair, 

Since all earth's creatures love me. 
[ 277 1 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

A vagabond, I leave the throng 

Of cities far behind me, 
Seeking the joy for which I long 
In haunts of happiness and song- 
And only song can find me. 



EXPERIENCE 

WHEN I set free my Golden-wing, 
Straight to the open fields he flew, 
But never once I heard him sing 

The songs which in his cage he knew. 

I followed him and left behind 

The narrow room where came to me 

The dreams which I was wont to bind 
In sheaves of song and melody. 

Alas ! the happy dreams no more 
Would turn to music on my lute : 

Gone was the joy I knew before, 
And liberty had made me mute. 

So now my Golden-wing and I 
Come gladly back to cage and den 

To hear the dreams go singing by 
And find life full of song again. 



[2 7 8] 



AUTUMN LEAVES 



LABOR OMNIA VINCIT 

OUT of a pebble from the desert sands, 
Found by some dusky slave in tropic lands, 
The skillful lapidary cuts a gem 
To dazzle in the Sultan's diadem. 

And even so the poet's pebble-thought 
By long and patient polishing is wrought 
Into the perfect symmetry of rhyme, — 
A gem to grace the diadem of Time ! 



AUTUMN LEAVES 

FLOWER and leaf of vine and tree, 
Grass of meadow, weed of mire, n — 
Summer gathered them to be 

Faggots for the Autumn's fire. 

Smoke-like haze on vale and hill ; 

Flames of gold and crimson bright 
Into life now leap and fill 

Field and forest with their light. 

All the glory of the year 

Kindled into beauty so : 
Soon the Winter will be here, 

Soon the curfew, — then the snow. 
[ 279 1 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

So these lovely leaves I lay 

In my book, all gold and red ; 

Embers for a winter's day 

When the Autumn's fire is dead. 



THE TREE TAVERN 

IN the Tavern of the Tree, 
Listen to the revelry ! 
Mark the merry minstrel there, 
Seated in his leafy chair, 
At his cups the whole day long, 
Paying toll with silvery song. 
Every draught he takes is drawn 
From the cellars of the Dawn ; 
Fragrant dew from flowery flasks, 
Amber air from fairy casks 
Brought from Araby, and bright 
With the Orient's golden light ; 
Spicery of buds and vines 
Flavors his delicious wines'; 
Is it strange his lyrics hold 
So much of the summer's gold ? 
Rapture of the roses caught, 
Into music deftly wrought ; 
Run and ripple of the rills 
All translated in his trills ; 
Every sweet, enchanted thing 
In his gladness made to sing. 
[ 280 ] 



NOCTURNE 

Ah, my mocking-bird, drink on 
Till the happy day is gone ; 
Till the pale moon rising up 
Drops the stars down in your cup ; 
Then to dreams once more, and then 
All the world grows still again ! 

NOCTURNE 

THE shifting shadows hide me : 
Love, let the curtains part, 
And light the stars to guide me — 
Your eyes, Sweetheart / 

She heard the music, note by note, 
Across the garden's fragrance float ; 
Faintly, at first, it came as though 
It were the wind's voice, soft and low — 
A ghost of song that breathed upon 
The silence once, and then was gone. 
But soon it grew more clear and sweet; 
And soon her heart began to beat 
With joy, and mark the measured time 
Of married melody and rhyme ; 
Then, through the curtains' folds of lace, 
She looked and saw her lover's face. 

The vines have sworn to cheat me : 
Love, speak the word to start 

The rose from dreams to greet me — 
Your lips, Sweetheart ! 
[281 ] 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

She threw the lattice open wide — 

A golden ray upon the tide 

Of darkness fell ; and there, all still, 

Moon-white above the window-sill, 

Like some strange flower of snow, she seemed 

To blossom while the garden dreamed. 

Far down, she saw him, rapt and mute' — 

The lover with his lyric lute ;1 

Then, from her bosom, something white 

And fragrant dropped down through the night. 

Quickly, she threw the rose, and then 

The air grew sweet with song again. 

The bright star brings its token I 

I need no other chart. 
The rose's lips have spoken — 

Good nighty Sweetheart ! 

A FIRST EDITION 

WHENEVER I go strolling down 
A bookish by-way in the town, 
It is my great delight to stop 
Within the Bookman's cosy shop, 
Where temptingly spread out to view 
Are books of all kinds, old and new, 
Editions curious and rare, 
And bindings rich beyond compare, 
And many of them priced so high 
One seldom can afford to buy. 
[282 ] 



A FIRST EDITION 

At such a time I ponder on 
The fate of Authors dead and gone, 
And think how grateful some would be 
To sell their books to-day to me — 
To charge for any volume sought 
More than the whole edition brought — 
Some slender sheaf of prose or rhyme 
Made priceless by the touch of Time. 
Thus I reflect, and long in vain 
To own a precious Tamerlane. 

Dear shade of Edgar Allan Poe, 
It is disquieting to know 
How much this very little thing 
In these degenerate days will bring, 
To feel that you for such a price 
Hell could have changed for Paradise, 
Balked Poverty a while and known 
Peace, which should be a Poet's own 
Exorbitant the price, and yet 
How small, considering the debt ! 

It may be maddening to find 

This relic of a Past unkind : 

A world's ingratitude and wrong 

Lie like a shadow on your song. 

Yet this must reconcile you some, 

To see, when to this shop you come, 

The dearest Poets on the shelf 

Are William Shakespeare and yourself — 

SJ 283 ] 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

Both vagabonds, both Poets — Look 
Two Thousand Dollars for a Book ! 



THE HOUSE OF DREAMS 

A HOUSE not built by mortals, 
In summer days is mine : 
Wide open stand its portals 
All sweet with flower and vine. 

Complete it is, capacious 

Each airy hall and room, 
And welcome ever gracious 

Breathes from its walls of bloom. 

I Ve music made by fountains, 
By brooks and birds and gales ; 

My epics are the mountains, 
My lyrics are the vales. 

Frescos on every ceiling 

Painted by Morn and Night, 

And every niche revealing 
Some treasure of delight. 

Wine that is clear and sunny 

My grassy cellars hold, 
And jars heaped full of honey 

And cups of fragrant gold. 
[ 284] 



THE IMMORTAL FLOWER 

Many a leafy pennant 

Above my slumber streams : 

I am God's happy tenant 

In this dear house of dreams. 

LIMITATION 

FROM the smooth beach I took one grain of sand 
What countless myriads of them must be 
Piled up to make the islands that withstand 
The mighty onslaught of the surging sea ! 
And as I pondered came the thought to me, 
How this great world of water and of land 

To God is but a tiny grain which He 
Holds in the hollow of His open hand. 

THE IMMORTAL FLOWER 

LORD, in whose hands I am but dust 
Make Thou of me a vessel whole, 
Worthy to guard the precious soul 
Thou givest me in trust. 

Keep me unmarred by strife and sin 
Throughout my little span of years ; 
Let Joy's bright sun and Sorrow's tears 

Keep pure the flower therein. 

Grant if Thou wilt mine eyes to see 
It grow to beauty at Thy feet, — 
To find at last the blossoms sweet 

Of Immortality. 

[285] 



UNCOLLECTED POEMS 

And when this body that is mine, — 

This mortal shape which Thou hast made, 
Is dust and with the earth-dust laid, 

Lord, take the flower for Thine ! 



THE END 



INDEXES 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

A cup of coffee, eggs, and rolls, 27. 

A cup of emerald, the valley, dim, 271. 

A girl to love, a pipe to smoke, 108. 

A house not built by mortals, 284. 

A little way below her chin, 15. 

A lyric is a tiny bird, 20. 

A rose on a spray where a brown bird sang, 88. 

A sculptor is the Sun, I know, 147. 

A tiny fire within this rose, 13. 

A vagabond, I roam at will, 277. 

Above — a dome of gray; below, 8. 

Above the glowing embers, 86. 

Above the sea in splendor, 250. 

Across the billowy meadow grasses, 7. 

Across the level meadow-land, 4. 

After the rain goes by, 203. 

After the silence long, 231. 

After the winter's night, 229. 

All day I hear along the sandy shore, 255. 

All night I heard along the coast, 215. 

All the world is bright, 23. 

All up and down in shadow-town, 172. 

Alone I puff soft wreaths of blue, 36. 

Along the margin of the world, 187. 

Along the woods' brown edge, 229. 

April ! 10. 

April brought the blossoms out, 166. 

As any child, this baby of the year 's, 19. 

As Love and I went walking, 251. 

Asleep within her marble room she lies, 259. 

At evening when I go to bed, 147. 

At Naishapur his ashes lie, 82. 

August, month when summer lies, 155. 

Awake, awake, O gracious heart, 68. 

Away with melancholy! 168. 

Back and forth the shuttles go, 199. 
Bees don't care about the snow, 192. 

[ 289 ] 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

Behind her fan of downy fluff, 66. 

Beneath the trees whose lisping brood, 126. 

Blooms in the east when darkness goes, 97. 

Blossom, little stars, and fill, 107. 

Blow, wind of March, and sing, 9. 

By day in Allah's azure urn, 98. 

By Dorothy in Cambridge town, 56. 

By night he spreads his white rays down, 194. 

By the fire that loves to tint her, 43. 

Captives to winter's cruel king, 186. 
Caressed by balmy gales that gently blow, 269. 
Caught in a crevice of the marble tomb, 266. 
Close by the margin tufts of grass, 12. 
Come, Pan, and pipe upon the reed, 64. 
Creeds for the credulous; but as for me, 263. 
Cupid, goe to Her in haste, 48. 
Cupid, tell me how to twine, 67. 

Day to my heart, 121. 

Dear Heart, do you remember, 244. 

Dear old Nantucket's isle of sand, 236. 

Dear Priscilla, quaint, and very, 40. 

Dear Rose, what volumes it would need to hold, 255. 

December's come and with her brought, 158. 

Deep in the ashes one live ember, 265. 

Deep in the woods, amid the giant trees, 258. 

Deep lies the snow on wood and field, 234. 

Divinely shapen cup, thy lip, 89. 

Down in a garden olden, 198. 

Echoes of song, ethereal they are, 272. 

Far in the distance looms a ship's dark hull, 262. 
February, — fortnights two, 150. 
Flower and leaf of vine and tree, 279. 
For all Philosophy may teach, 263. 
For months I had suffered derision, 45. 
For you these tiny flowers are cut, 18. 
Friend, stay your steps awhile before, 136. 
From Paradise what soul with wings, 85. 
From sunrise to the set of sun, 214. 
From the marble of his thought, 93. 

[ 290 ] 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

From the minster's organ-loft, 80. 

From the smooth beach I took one grain of sand, 285. 

From the sunny climes of France, 74. 

From these downy flakes of snow, 170. 

From what mystery of space, 79. 

Ghosts of departed winged things, 88. 

Give me my happy poet's book, 83. 

Give me the room whose every nook, 137. 

Glass, wherein a Greek girl's tears, 213. 

Go, Heliotrope, 109. 

Go, little book with heart of rhyme, 140. 

Go, Rose, and in her golden hair, 106. 

Goe, little Rhyme, I greete Her, 47. 

Golden locks in cunning curl, 69. 

Good Winter, hear this wish I write, 113. 

Gracefulest of buoyant things, 224. 

Gray as the gulls above, San Marco lies, 271. 

Hark at the lips of this pink whorl of shell, 18. 

He was the first to welcome Spring, 215. 

Heedless how it may fare with Time, 240. 

Her china cup is white and thin, 66. 

Her greeting is a dulcet bell, 253. 

Her scuttle Hatt is wondrous wide, 65. 

Here are roses red, 252. 

Here is the cloth whereon the dew and sun, 264. 

Here's a lyric for September, 155. 

High in the old cathedral tower they hung, 260. 

His forehead he fringes and decks, 72. 

His home is yonder in the sky, 174. 

Homeless is she, forever wandering, 269. 

Hour after hour relentlessly the sun, 257. 

Humming-bird, 163. 

I care not that the snow lies deep, in. 

I heard a sweet voice singing in the night, 95. 

"I love you," he whispered low, 24. 

I often sit and wish that I, 168. 

I read the verses from my copy, 34. 

I smile, and then the Sun comes out, 176. 

If any grace, 21. 

Implacable and stern, the captive, Hate, 263. 

[ 291 ] 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

In agony of death throughout the night, 262. 

In her dark hair a lustrous jewel gleams, 98. 

In Nature's open book, 09. 

In quiet splendor fell the Southern night, 273. 

In the black jungle of the sky now wakes, 261. 

In the day or night, 179. 

In the green woods is the brook, 223. 

In the hush of the night he heard, 91. 

In the pasture's clover deep, 131. 

In the soft wind that blows, 126. 

In the Tavern of the Tree, 280. 

In this white world of wonder, 230. 

In vain the quest: no mortal eyes may know, 257. 

In winter, when the wind I hear, 162. 

Into the slumber of the Day there came, 265. 

It is my joy in life to find, 228. 

It matters not how far I fare, 246. 

It was the middle of the night, 205. 

January, bleak and drear, 149. 
Jasmines tangled in her hair, 24. 
July, for you the songs are sung, 154. 

Lady, at your lattice I, 51. 

Launched in the darkness on an unknown sea, 263. 

Let a song be softly sung, 119. 

Let me a garland twine, 225. 

Let us go forth and meet her, 122. 

Lift the oars and let us go, 3. 

Like mimic meteors the snow, 9. 

Listen to the tawny thief, 19. 

Little drop of dew, 182. 

Little mimic of the sun, 15. 

Lonely once, my love away, 112. 

Long centuries ago, those Persian boys, 204. 

Long time she sat, yet never touched a string, 118. 

Long years ago there lived a King, 159. 

Long years within its sepulchre, 101. 

Lord, in whose hands I am but dust, 285. 

Love, at your door young Cupid stands, 1 10. 

Love, how I miss you in this little room! 275. 

Love I locked upon a time, 22. 

Love, throw thy lattice open to the night, 120. 

[ 292 ] 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

Love, when we parted, you and I, 115. 
Lying beside the margin of the deep, 98. 

Madrigals and catches caught, 2. 

March! and all the winds cry, March! 150. 

May shall make the world anew, 152. 

Meadows lost in clouds of mist, 6. 

Muse, grant me some new simile to sing, 61. 

Mute the music of the fiddle, 49. 

My heart was winter-bound until, 247. 

My Love is like a Winter rose, 252. 

My songs are all for her, 247. 

Nanac, the faithful, pausing once to pray, 95. 

No leaf is stirring in the tree, 125. 

Not his alone the gift divine, 220. 

Now hide the flowers beneath the snow, 173. 

Now since it knows, 241. 

Now winter fills the world with snow, 181. 

O June! delicious month of June, 153. 

O nightingale among the leaves, 43. 

O robin in the cherry-tree, 164. 

O white moon sailing down the sky, 161. 

October is the month that seems, 156. 

Of all the threads of rhyme, 218. 

Of books I sing, but not of those, 139. 

Oftentimes there come to me, 100. 

Once in the morning when the breeze, 197. 

Once, long ago, in some sweet garden's hush, 19. 

Once, when the doors of night were open thrown, 59. 

One morning in the garden, 187. 

One morning when the rain was done, 192. 

Only a whispering gale, 79. 

Out of a pebble from the desert sands, 279. 

Out of a pellucid brook, 164. 

Out of my window I could see, 146. 

Out of the purple drifts, 211. 

Out of the scabbard of the night, 261* 

Out of the sky they come, 184. 

Outdoors the white rain coming down, 151. 

Outside, the blasts of winter blow, 68. 

Over the convent wall, 117. 

[ 293 ] 



INTJEX OF FIRST LINES 

Over the rim, a fiery ball, 261. 
Over valley, over hill, 188. 

River or sea, the voice is still the same, 265. 

Rose in the garden-close, 17. 

Roses are the rhymes I wreathe, 253. 

Santa Claus, I hang for you, 165. 

Scamper, little leaves, about, 178. 

Screening her face of loveliness behind, 264. 

See, yonder, the belfry tower, 85. 

Seraglio of the Sultan Bee! 97. 

She finds companionship in field and wood, 63. 

She wears a most bewitching bang, 71. 

Slender strips of crimson sky, 4. 

Slight is the thing it needs to wake, 217. 

Slumber, slumber, little one, now, 193. 

Softly the little wind goes by, 216. 

Song like a rose should be, 116. 

Spring is the morning of the year, 148. 

Still on the corner stands the school, 53. 

Strange how much sentiment, 38. 

Strolling along the granite coast I caught, 262. 

Sweetheart, comes laughing April now, 248. 

Sweetheart, the buds are on the tree, 249. 

Sweetheart, the year is young, 25. 

Sweetheart, when rhymes I make, 104. 

'T was spring when I first found it out, 31. 

The air is keen, the sky is clear, 133. 

The bugling winds their solemn dirges blow, 262. 

The days come, 93. 

The fence on either side is down, 129. 

The garden is a royal court, 183. 

The little leaves upon the trees, 190. 

The meadow is a battle-field, 160. 

The shifting shadows hide me, 281. 

The sky is full of clouds to-day, 177. 

The soft wind whispered secrets to the apple tree, 16. 

The songs I make, they are not mine, 219. 

The sturdy wind that fills the ship's white sail, 18. 

The sun sank red in the dull gray west, 130. 

The sunset fades, and once again the hills, 272. 

I 294 1 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

The theatres are out, and on Broadway, 274. 

The white stars blossom in the skies, 58. 

The woodland brooks that murmur as they go, 148. 

There came a day in winter when the sun, 258. 

There is a funny fellow, 174. 

There's a word in my heart, dare I tell it? 32. 

There was a'time, fond girl, when you, 29. 

They gather round him, one and all, 200. 

They have the scarlet of her lips, 276. 

This be my wish: let all my lines, 266. 

This bronze our Lincoln's noble head doth bear, 276. 

This is a naiad's drinking cup, 128. 

This is brave Harro's story, 221. 

This is what a fairy heard, 171. 

Thou feathered minstrel perched in yonder tree, 256. 

Three giant fir-trees reach their arms, 12. 

Throughout the long, enchanted summer hours, 264. 

Tinkle, tinkle! 193. 

To lie beneath a cloudless sky, 11. 

Unto his parching lips a cup, 134. 

Up from the underworld the shadows crowd, 261. 

Up in her balcony where, 103. 

Up in your cage of gold, 176. 

Up, slender vine, your love is mine, 106. 

Upon a mottled, tawny leopard-skin, 61. 

Upon a mountain-summit high, 90. 

Upon the walls the graceful Ivy climbs, 264. 

Voice of the wind, of singing brook and bird, 217. 

Wee, little rimless wheel of Fate, 14. 
What fires were kindled in the autumn's urn! 274. 
What joy to rest beside the brook that goes, 270. 
What magic flutes are these that make, 232. 
What time the night-bird to the rose, 28. 
When all the ground with snow is white, 197. 
When blossoms born of balmy spring, 73. 
When I set free my Golden- wing, 278. 
When I spin round without a stop, 175. 
When I was but a lad of eight, 52. 
When I was young, and long before, 145. 
When I was young I made a vow, 211. 

[ 295 1 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

When in her lap you lie, 35. 

When out-of-doors is full of rain, 189. 

When pale Selene, in her crescent boat, 59. 

When study and school are over, 196. 

When Summer comes and brings the rose, 92. 

When the open fire is lit, 180. 

When the sun shines, then I see, 191. 

When twilight comes, and nature stills, 64. 

When Winter hushes for a time, 234. 

Whenever I go strolling down, 282. 

Where heedless winds around him blow, 98. 

White in her woven shroud, 212. 

Who can tell us whence they come, 184. 

Who shall sing to bleak November, 157. 

Whoso enters at this portal, 242. 

Why all the stars in the sky are so bright, 190. 

Winged wanderer from clover meadows sweet, 60. 

Within a belfry built of bloom, 233. 

Within a spot where slept the silent dead, 62. 

Within the meadow of Time's book, 135. 

Within the stone Sahara of the Town, 265. 

Within this silent palace of the Night, 97. 

Wondrous things have come to pass, 169. 

Worn is the winter rug of white, 235. 

You who at my elbow sit, 114. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Ad Astra, 107. 
Allah's House, 95. 
Anemone, 147. 
Apple Blossoms, 16. 
April, 19. 
April, 151. 
April, 231. 
April Carol, An, 10. 
Arbutus, 229. 
Archer, The, 174. 
Aspiration, 135. 
At Midnight, 85. 
At the Door, 28. 
Attainment, 93. 
August, 155. 
Autumn Leaves, 279. 
Avowal, An, 32. 
"Awake, Awake," 68. 

Bacchus, 19. 

Backlog Dreams, 86. 

Bees, 192. 

Behind her Fan, 66. 

Betrayal, 258. 

Betrothal, A, 24. 

Bird's Elegy, A, 215. 

Birds' Music, 190. 

Blossoms, 146. 

Book-Hunter, The, 27. 

Books, 135. 

Book, To his, 140. 

Bower of Cupid, The, 242. 

Breath of Song, 80. 

Breezes of Morning, 59. 

Broadway at Midnight, 274. 

Bronze Medal of Lincoln by Victor 

D. Brenner, On a, 276. 
Brook Accompaniment, The, 270. 
Bunch of Quatrains, A, 18. 
Bundle of Letters, A, 38. 
Buttercups, On some, 15. 
Butterfly in Wall Street, A, 60. 



Canary, The, 176. 

Canoe Song, 224. 

Catch, A, 21. 

Cathedral Bells, The, 260. 

Charm, The, 217. 

Cherries, 166. 

Christmas Cat, The, 205. 

Cigar, A, 36. 

City Sparrows, 265. 

Clock, On a, 112. 

Clouds, 177. 

Colonial Missive, A, 56. 

Come, Pan, and Pipe, 64. 

Confession, 211. 

Contentment, 108. 

Contrast, 98. 

Contrast, 266. 

Coquette, A, 71. 

Cupid, To, 67. 

Cupid, February 14, To, 48. 

Daisies, 147. 
Daisy, To a, 14- 
Dancing Gypsy, The, 61. 
Dandelion, To a, 15. 
Dawn, 261. 
Dawn and Dusk, 4. 
Day Dream, 265. 
Day's Shroud, The, 214. 
Daybreak, 134. 
December, 158. 
Derelict, 262. 
Dewdrop, A, 182. 
Dies Ultima, 212. 
Dirge, 119. 

Dobson, Austin, To, 74. 
Dreams, 184. 
Dusk, 261. 

Echo, 269. 

Elfin Lamps, 190. 

End of Autumn, The, 274. 



[ 297 1 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Engaged, 49. 
Eternity Lane, 129. 
Experience, 278. 

Fairies' Dance, The, 197. 

Fairy Jewels, 161 . 

Fairy Shipwreck, 192. 

Fairy Story, A, 171. 

Familiar Melody, The, 272. 

Fancy, 3. 

Fancy, 77, 209. 

Fancy, To, 79. 

February, 9. 

February, 150. 

Fire Fancies, 265. 

First Edition, A, 282. 

Fly-Leaf to the Reader, The, 136. 

Flying Kite, 168. 

Fog, 262. 

Footprints in the Snow, 235. 

For Music, 247. 

For Poppies, 276. 

For Saynte Valentyne, his Daye, 47. 

Forgotten Books, 139. 

Fortress of San Marco, The, 271. 

Four Winds, The, 162. 

French Follies, 64. 

Fulfilment, 91. 

Funny Fellow, A, 174. 

Garland, A, 225. 
Ghost Fairies, 180. 
Glow- Worm, A, 12. 
Goal, The, 263. 
Golden-Rod, 148. 
Good-Night, 58. 
Grass, 264. 
Greek Vase, On a, 89. 
Greeting for Spring, A, 122. 
Gypsy, 277. 

Harbor of Dreams, The, 79. 

Harro, 221. 

Heliotrope, 109. 

Her China Cup, 66. 

Her Guitar, 43. 

Her Smile his Sunlight, 104. 

Herrick, With, 223. 

Hide-and-Seek, 173. 



His Desire, 218. 
His Starlight, 114. 
Hollyhock, A, 97. 
Honeysuckles, 233. 
House of Dreams, The, 284. 
Humming-bird Song, 163. 

Ice-Prisoner, The, 8. 

Idyllic, 11. 

Immortal Flower, The, 285. 

In a Garden, 264. 

In Absence, 246. 

In an Old Garden, 12. 

In Parenthesis, 34. 

In the Clover, 131. 

In the Meadow, 160. 

In the Orchard, 164. 

Indian Summer, 7. 

Interpreter, The, 220. 

Israfel, 85. 

Ivy, 264. 

January, 149. 
Jester Bee, 183. 
Juggler, The, 170. 
Juliet, To, 240. 
July, 154. 
June, 153. 

King Bell, 159. 
Knowledge, 263. 
Kriss Kringle, 168. 

Labor Omnia Vincit, 279. 
Last Letter, The, 101 . 
Leaves at Play, 178. 
Library, The, 137. 
Life, 263. 
Limitation, 285. 

Lincoln, On a Bronze Medal of, 276. 
Little-Folk Lyrics, 143. 
Lonely Room, The, 275. 
Loom of Song, The, 269. 
Love, 100, 240. 
Love's Seasons, 31. 
Love's Springtide, 247. 
Lullaby, 193. 

Lyric, A: "A lyric is a tiny bird," 
20. 



[ 298 ] 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Lyric, A: "Lady, at your lattice I," 51. 

Lyrics, 99. 

Lyrics for a Lute, 77. 

Lyrics of Joy, 209. 

Madrigal, A: "All the world is 

bright," 23. 
Madrigal, A: "Sweetheart, the year 

is young," 25. 
Madrigals and Catches, i. 
March, 150. 
March Wind, The, 9. 
Mastery, 262. 
May, 152. 
May-Children, 186. 
May Madrigal, A, 249. 
May Morning, 232. 
Memories, 118. 
Memories, 251. 
Miss Thomas's "A New Year's 

Masque," 63. 
Mnemosyne's Mirror, 92. 
Mocking Bird, To a, 256. 
Moods, 90. 
Moonlight, 271. 
Moonlight and Music, 244. 
Moonrise, 97. 
Morning Mist, 4. 
Moths, 88. 
Muse, The, 45. 
Muse, The, 219. 
Music, 257. 
My April, 248. 
My Love, To, 68. 
My Message, To, 35. 

Naiad's Cup, The, 128. 

Nantucket, 236. 

Nature, 122, 229. 

Nobility, 18. 

Nocturne: "Above the sea in splen- 
dor," 250. 

Nocturne: "Love, throw thy lattice 
open to the night," 120. 

Nocturne: "The shifting shadows hide 
me," 281. 

Noontide, 125. 

November, 157. 

Nun's Rose, The, 117. 



October, 156. 

Of Rhyme, 73. 

Old Garden, In an, 12. 

Old Rondo, An, 65. 

Old Song, An, 100. 

Omar, The Story of, 204. 

Omar Khayyam, 82. 

On a Bronze Medal of Lincoln by 

Victor D. Brenner, 276. 
On a Clock, 112. 
On a Greek Vase, 89. 
On some Buttercups, 15. 

Pacific Dawn, A, 59. 

"Pansies for Thoughts," 18. 

Pebbles, 164. 

Penalty, The, 263. 

Pepita, 103. 

Perpetuity, 95. 

Persian Dancing Girl, A, 24. 

Persian Nocturne, A, 43. 

Poet, The, 217. 

Poppies, For, 276. 

Prayer, A, 228. 

Priscilla, A Rhyme for, 40. 

Quatrain, A: "Hark at the lips of this 

pink whorl of shell," 18. 
Quatrains, 18, 97, 261. 
Quatrains, A Bunch of, 18. 

Rain-Harp, The, 189. 
Rainbow, The, 203. 
Real Santa Claus, A, 165 
Re-awakening, 62. 
Red Rose, A, 19. 
Remembrance, 121. 
Reminiscence, A, 29. 
Revery, 83. 
Rhyme, Of, 73- 
Rhyme for Priscilla, A, 40. 
Robin's Apology, 187. 
Romance, 273. 
Rose, 264. 
Rose, To a, 106. 
Rose, With a, 13. 
Rose Lore, 241. 
Rose Lyric, A, 17. 
Rose's Cup, The, 198. 



[ 299 ] 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Saint Rose, 255. 

Saynte Valentyne, his Daye, For, 47. 

Sea Fancy, A, 262. 

Sea Ghost, A, 215. 

Secret, 216. 

September, 155. 

Shadow Children, 191. 

Shadow Pictures, 179. 

Shadows, The, 172. 

Shower, The, 257. 

Sky-Ship, The, 126. 

Smiles and Tears, 176. 

Snare, A, 22. 

Snow Song, 188. 

Snow's Dreamer, The, 259. 

Snow-Bird, The, 197. 

Snow- Weaver, The, 199. 

Snowflakes, 184. 

Soldiers of the Sun, 187. 

Song, 116. 

Song: "Her greeting is a dulcet bell," 

253- 
Song: "Roses are the rhymes I 

wreathe," 253. 
Song for Winter, 181. 
Song's Echo, A, 252. 
Sonnets, 59, 255. 
Sorcery, 88. 
Spinning Top, 175. 
Spring 's Coming, 148. 
Starlight, 261. 
Storm, 130. 
Storm, 261. 

Story of Omar, The, 204. 
Story-Teller, The, 200. 
Strategy, 61. 
Summer, 6. 
Sun and Moon, 98. 
Sunrise, 97. 
Surf Music, 98. 
Surf Music, 255. 
Swell, A, 72. 

Tear Bottle, A, 213. 
Time's Song, 93. 
To a Daisy, 14. 
To a Dandelion, 15. 
To a Mocking Bird, 256. 



To a Rose, 106. 

To Austin Dobson, 74. 

To Cupid, 67. 

To Cupid, February 41, 48. 

To Fancy, 79. 

To Her, 247. 

To bis Book, 140. 

To Juliet, 240. 

To my Father, 2. 

To my Love, 68. 

To my Message, 35. 

To the Little Readers, 145. 

To Winter, 113. 

Tree Tavern, The, 280. 

Twilight, 272. 

Two Songs, 253. 

Uncollected Poems, 267. 
Under her Balcony, 106. 
Unspoken, 115. 
Untutored Mind, An, 52. 

Vacation Song, 146. 

Valentine to an Anonymous Miss, 

69. 
Valentines, 110. 
Village School, The, 53. 
Violet, 230. 

Waterfall, The, 193- 
When Twilight comes, 64. 
White Magic, 234. 
Winter, To, 113. 
Winter Dreams, 234. 
Winter Pool, The, 258. 
Winter Starlight, 133. 
Winter's Acrobats, 194. 
Winter's Beggar, 98. 
Wish, A, 266. 
Witchery, 211. 
With a Rose, 13. 
With Herrick, 223. 
With Roses, 252. 
Wizard Frost, 169. 
Woodland Spring, A, 126. 
Writ in Water, 265. 

Year's Day, The, 229. 



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